Stay
by lulu0814
Summary: Brennan accepts a job in Canada and struggles with whether or not she should go through with her decision. Booth just wants to know why. Told from Booth and Brennan's POV.
1. Chapter 1

_I've been itching to write something angsty for a while. (I can't keep writing cute and positive fluff, it'll make my brain go mushy.) So there you go. It's not a Kleenex warning fic, don't worry._

*****

I love her.

There.

I said it.

I admitted it. Or at least to myself, I admitted it.

I'm in _love_ with her.

It's almost a relief to think that out loud instead of shoving it back down like I usually do, especially when it's become so hard to shove down lately.

And yet it's not enough. Because I haven't told her, and I don't think I ever will. Somewhere, I have to find the strength to tell her before it's too late. And if four years isn't enough prep time, how the hell can I do it in four days?

Four days.

God.

She's spent her time trying to avoid me ever since she accepted that goddamn job. If it goes on like this, she'll be gone without giving me a chance to say goodbye, let alone make declarations of undying love.

Four tiny little days left.

What if I do tell her?

Would she stay for me?

Something tells me that yes, she just might.

But then again, she might still go. And I don't think I could live with that.

She should go. It's for the best. What I think doesn't matter. I don't need to know why she's leaving me behind.

Right?

Right.

*****

I'm standing in front of her door, trying to ring the doorbell without dropping the bag of bagels and the two coffees I'm carrying.

The door opens before I can reach it, and Bones is standing right in front of me in a pretty white blouse and a navy blue jacket. We silently gawk at each other for a second or two.

"Hey Bones." I finally say as enthusiastically as I can manage.

She looks surprised. Mortified, even. "What are you doing here?" she asks in an affected tone.

She slept with someone last night. I don't know how I can tell, but I know her, and I know she did. I can almost smell the guy on her. And it makes me want to cry, or shoot someone, or shoot myself. As usual, I force myself to swallow it all down.

"Brought ya some coffee." I tell her with such completely fake cheerfulness that I'm scared she can see I'm trying much too hard. My throat is dry. I hand her the cup with soy milk in it.

"Thank you." She whispers. She stares at the cup instead of me.

"You want a ride?"

She looks up, and she's even more surprised than before.

Oh God, I shouldn't have said that. I never _ask_ her if she wants a ride in the morning. I'm simply there in the doorway whenever I think she'd like me to pick her up, and I just smile at her, and she smiles at me, and I give her coffee, put my hand on her back, and open the door for her. She usually protests, and I either ignore her or argue right back. But I never have to ask. Now I feel stupid for making it seem like things are different between us.

Who am I kidding? Things are different.

"You rarely ask me if I want a ride, Booth," she points out.

"I… um, I thought…" I mumble. The wallpaper is suddenly immensely fascinating.

"It's almost as strange as say, hearing you knock before charging into my office. Or letting me work instead of dragging me to lunch," she adds. To my relief, I realize she is smiling.

I grin. "Well I'm making an effort to be exceptionally nice this morning, Doctor Brennan."

"Why? Because I'm leaving?" she whispers. Her smile is gone. So is mine.

She had to bring that up, didn't she? Just when things started to feel somewhat normal again for a moment.

I look at her straight in the eyes. "Yeah. Because you're leaving."

We stood in silence.

"Are you still angry at me?" she asks.

"No." And that's the truth.

"Do you… want me to stay?"

"Yes," I reply. God knows I don't want her to go.

She steps closer to me, and I can smell the sweet smell of her skin, and her hair is beautiful, and her eyes are absolutely crushing me. "I'll miss you," she whispers even softer.

"I'll miss you too." I whisper back. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. My throat feels like it's blocked by wet cement. "But in the end, I think maybe you should go," I finally choke out against my will.

"You think I should go." She looks sad. Of course she does. She must think I'm trying to get rid of her. Underneath her doctorates, I swear this woman has no self-esteem.

I cough. "Yeah. I… thought about it for a while, and in the end I'm sure you have good reasons deep in your heart, even if you refuse to tell _me_ why the hell you're going."

"Oh, but I _did_ tell you. Montreal needs a new Anthropologist, and since I have adequate qualifications…" she starts, a little exasperated.

"The real reason," I grunt.

"It is the real reason, Booth."

"You aren't leaving DC because some Canadian anthropologist decided to retire, Bones," I say gently. "Your family is here. Your squint squad, Russ and your father, your mother's grave. You'll leave them all. You'll leave your home. And you wouldn't possibly do that just because you have 'adequate qualifications'."

She has nothing to reply to that.

"I figure… If it makes you happy to move to Canada, and if you're absolutely sure about it, then…" I sigh. "Then you should go. And if you don't wanna tell me why, I shouldn't pressure you about it."

I still wish she'd just tell me, though. It would make it so much easier to let her go if I knew. Is she scared? Is she tired of me? What's making her run away?

She's looking straight in front of her, at my chin. I think she's trying not to cry.

"Come on," I nudge her arm, "I'll drive you to the lab. Alright?"

I want to hug her, burry my head into her shoulder, her neck, hold her against me so close that it hurts and I can't tell where my body ends and her skin begins, but I don't.

Instead we sit in the SUV in complete silence. That's rare. We're usually bickering about some unimportant thing, or even agreeing with each other occasionally.

It isn't a grumpy silence like when we're mad at each other, it isn't an impatient silence like when we're on a stakeout, and it isn't a thoughtful silence like when we're worrying about cases and personal crap. Those silences have a temporary feeling, as though they're simply there to fill in the gaps between conversations. This silence is just a lack of sound with nothing in it. A big, empty, invisible wall keeping us apart.

Maybe I should feel bitter. She sleeps with random guys, she leaves for Montreal, and she refuses to tell me why. But I'm beyond anger and resentment now. I'm mostly done with denial, even. Instead, I'm smack in the middle of despair.

*****

A warm hand glides along my back with a tender caress. It feels pleasant but unfamiliar against my naked skin.

"Booth?" my mind asks groggily, still trapped in a haze.

I open my heavy eyes to see... what was his name again? George something. I met him at the bar.

"Good morning," I tell him with disappointment.

"G'morning." He grins. I suppose he wants another "quickie" before disappearing from my life forever.

I slept with him.

I'm an idiot.

Booth yelled at me when I told him. Not because he wanted to control my decisions and not because he thought I was making the worst mistake possible by accepting that job in Montreal. He just wanted to know _why_. He deserved at least that much, didn't he? After all, I am not leaving with Sully for the Caribbean, shirking all responsibilities. I'm leaving for cold, boring Canada, where nothing but gruesome skeletons and harsh winters await me. I'm fleeing away. He simply wants to know from what.

When I told Booth, his eyes looked the same as when I asked him if I should sail away with Sully. Reading facial expressions might not be my forte, but even I knew he didn't feel anger, but hurt.

Then I felt guilty, of course. I had purposefully put that look into his eyes. So I had thrown myself at the first man who showed the least bit of interest in me, namely George.

I step out of the shower. He has already left the building. Good riddance.

I still can't shake away the irrational disappointment I felt when I discovered that the hand on my back wasn't Booth's. Why would I even think of him in such a situation? Of course it couldn't be Booth's hand. Maybe Booth put his hand on my back so many times that I have come to associate...

When I opened the door, Booth was standing on my doorstep, his hand on the doorbell.

"Brought ya some coffee," he tells me with a sheepish smile. I can hear the typical forced enthusiasm he uses every time he wants to make things better.

"Thank you." It was so… sweet of him. I had slept with a man I met at the bar yesterday, I had avoided him at every opportunity for days, and he brought me coffee as though he was the one who should apologize. Does he honestly think I would hold his outburst against him? I was the one who hurt him first.

"You want a ride?"

I look up, surprised. Booth _asked_ me if I wanted a ride?

"You rarely ask me if I want a ride, Booth," I comment.

"I… um, I thought…" he trips on his words and stares at the wall, embarrassed.

"It's almost as strange as say, hearing you knock before charging into my office," I tease. "Or letting me work instead of dragging me to lunch,"

He smiles warmly at me when he realizes I'm joking. "Well I'm making an effort to be exceptionally nice this morning, Doctor Brennan."

Booth has such a beautiful smile. Beautiful.

And suddenly, I can't bear the thought of leaving him. I can't go through the day without seeing his smile, or feeling his big hand on the small of my back, or smiling when I look at his shoes because underneath his pant legs, his socks probably have polka dots.

What am I doing to both of us?

"Why? Because I'm leaving?" I whisper. His smile is gone as quickly as it came. I feel almost relieved to see it go. His smile was cruelly reminding me of everything I will lose after my departure.

He pauses. "Yeah. Because you're leaving."

We stood in silence.

"Are you still angry at me?" I ask. What I really want to know is whether he is still hurt, and if he will be able to cope.

"No," he answers sincerely. Yet, I don't believe him.

"Do you… want me to stay?" I shouldn't ask him this, but I need to know…

"Yes." Of course he wants me to stay.

I can't help stepping closer to him to see the little lines between his brows, to smell the familiar smell of his skin, so close to him that I can almost kiss the slight stubble on his cheeks. His eyes are utterly crushing me.

"I'll miss you," I whisper. I can feel the tears coming. They are already blurring my vision.

"I'll miss you too," he whispers back. He hesitates and adds, "But in the end, I think maybe you should go."

"You think I should go." I repeat his words, stunned.

I know he is trying to alleviate my guilt. I know he wants me to stay, yet as usual he is putting my feelings first and attempting to make me feel better. The irony does not escape me.

Why does he have to be nice and understanding all the time? It would be so much easier if he would yell at me again.

He coughs. "Yeah. I… thought about it for a while, and in the end I'm sure you have good reasons deep in your heart, even if you refuse to tell _me_ why the hell you're going."

God, no, not again. This is exactly why I avoided him.

"Oh, but I _did_ tell you." I affirm, almost in panic. "Montreal needs a new Anthropologist, and since I have adequate qualifications…"

"The real reason," he demanded.

"It is the real reason, Booth." I wish he could simply believe me. Sadly, he is as stubborn as I am.

"You aren't leaving DC because some Canadian anthropologist decided to retire, Bones. Your family is here. Your squint squad, Russ and your father, your mother's grave. You'll leave them all. You'll leave your home. And you wouldn't possibly do that just because you have 'adequate qualifications'." His tone is painfully gentle.

He is right. But as right as he is, I can't tell him. There is no possible way he would let me go if I told him why. I love his optimism, his hope in the future, but I don't share it. And even if leaving him is the wrong decision, staying…

"I figure… If it makes you happy to move to Canada, and if you're absolutely sure about it, then…Then you should go. And if you don't wanna tell me why, I shouldn't pressure you about it."

I'm not even listening anymore, too focused on the tears threatening to fall from my right eye.

"Come on, I'll drive you to the lab. Alright?" He nudges me softly. I walk to the car with Booth's hand on my back, not George's. And it feels right.

In the SUV, I stare at window without a word. I don't want him to hear my voice crack with unshed sobs. Moreover, if I keep my face in the opposite direction, he is unable to see the tear on my right cheek. When we finally arrive at the lab, I wipe it away discreetly before he notices it.

*****

_Ironically, I've written stuff from Brennan's POV, Angela's, Charlie's, Sully's, and even random waiters', but nothing from Booth's POV. I love our big guy very dearly of course, but I don't really _get_ him. I can't get in his head. Still I tried, (it's damn hard by the way), and I don't think it's too wildly out of character if you are willing to pretend he suddenly became emo._

_And no, not all future chapters will be as repetitive as this one, I promise._


	2. Chapter 2

"Hi… mom."

I stand in the graveyard with a few flowers clutched in my fingers, alone. Booth's remark about my mother's grave must have stirred something in me.

I sigh. This is ludicrous. What on earth am I supposed to say? Neither Angela nor Booth is with me. They're the heart people. If they were here, at the very least they could attempt to steer me in the right direction, but without them I have no clue where to begin.

I stand and stare at the tombstone without a word, as if waiting for something, anything to happen.

Nothing happens.

I sigh again and lay the flowers on the fresh-cut grass at my feet.

Christine Brennan.

I try to muster up slightly faded memories of my childhood. My mother, combing her long black hair. Kissing my father. Her beautiful face. Her dolphin belt. That night, when they drove away without coming back, she wore her dolphin belt buckle. What is it that makes belt buckles so special? Why is my mother's Dolphin belt buckle such a vivid memory in my mind, when so many others have faded away forever? I don't understand why belt buckles have such great significance for the people I know. Booth's, for example. I was worried when he stopped wearing his Cocky belt buckle after his surgery. It was as if a part of him was missing.

Christine Brennan.

What was it that Booth said to me again? That I didn't put my mother's real name on the tombstone because… I forgot why. And then I found the little silver dolphin. I was going to seal it into a bag, but then Booth told me it wasn't that kind of evidence…

I'm glad her name is Christine Brennan on her tombstone instead of Ruth Keenan, whatever the reason for it may be. I might call my father Max, but to me, his name is still Matthew. Matt Brennan. The unconditional love I felt for him in my youth has been tainted by the sight of the two burnt bodies on the rooftop, by the traces of plastic surgery and wrinkles altering his face, by that car he drove away with what was left of my family, leaving me alone for a second time, by the look on Booth's face when he let them escape just for me. I can still perfectly see Booth, standing there, his gun pointed at the windshield, hesitating in his olive green jacket. The one he wore when he was shot in the karaoke. I liked that jacket. Now, whenever I think of it, I can only remember his blood staining the green fabric.

Oh, why must everything always lead back to Booth? Why does everything remind me of him? If my mind is constantly dogged by his presence now, I cannot begin to fathom how much worse it'll be after I leave. Who else would even remember my mother's grave but him?

I sometimes wonder if my mother would have liked Booth. Max seems to respect him, even if they are on opposing sides of the law. And if my father can bring himself to respect an FBI agent, my mother probably wouldn't have any objections either. Booth seems to understand Max too, for some reason. He is much more forgiving than I am. I still love my father of course, despite everything, but sometimes the resentment is hard to let go.

Yet my mother's memory, thankfully, remains untarnished for me. She will always stay young, lovely and kind in my mind, even if she was the one who decided to leave me and Russ behind, supposedly for our own good. She couldn't possibly have known the despair her actions would cause.

I suddenly realize that my mother had been faced with the same choice as mine. Leave her loved ones, or stay. She had decided to leave, just as I have. And in hindsight, her mistake cost us all.

My mother unwittingly destroyed my childhood.

I close my eyes and pass my hands over my face. What the hell am I doing to him? To us? I have asked myself this question endlessly, but I had never realized what I was... That I'm abandoning him. But surely, Booth didn't need me, did he? He's not a lost fifteen year old dumped into the foster system, he is a grown man.

And someone he cares about is disappearing from his life without telling him why. I know Booth. He probably thinks I'm leaving because of him.

"What should I do, mom?" I quietly ask the tombstone. "Should I stay? Am I making the right decision or am I ruining our only shot at happiness? Will he hate me when he looks back on the years we spent together? Is he able to cope or is it too late, and I already wrecked his life?"

My mother didn't answer.

*****

How the hell did I end up here?

I vaguely remember buying some groceries. And then I drove back, drove past my place without even noticing, and somehow ended up in front of a freaking casino. I mean, I just had to stop in front of one? This isn't Atlantic City. My God, I am so screwed up.

I shouldn't go inside. I shouldn't.

I find a parking spot and walk to the front door like in a nightmare.

I'm hit in the face with the sound of winning. I've come to hate that sound. I hear chips clicking against each other, dice being thrown, shuffling cards, the winners screaming and covering the disappointed exclamations of losers.

What is wrong with me? Why did I come?

I stare at a roulette for a ridiculously long time, just to keep myself occupied. I am _not_ going to play Craps. Several times, I try to walk out of the place, but my shoes are stuck to the spot with hot glue.

The roulette goes round and round.

Walk out of here. Come on.

And I thought I was over that gambling bug. I mean, last time I even went into a place like this I was with Bones. On a case. And she didn't even let me put a single coin in a slot machine. I don't think she knows how grateful I am for that.

Bones was the one who gambled, in Las Vegas. Even today, I still can't believe her beginner's luck. I mean, when she pulled out that wad of cash, I swear to God I nearly fainted.

There's a girl playing blackjack in a sinfully red dress in a corner, and for a split second, I confuse her with Bones. But her hair is darker, she obviously has implants, and I couldn't care less if she left Washington to stare at decomposed corpses in Canada.

Oh, for Christ's sake, everything always comes back to _her_. Something always manages to remind me of her no matter where I go, even in a damn casino. I think it's gonna drive me insane soon.

And suddenly, I don't care about the sound of the rolling dice on the Craps table anymore. Because Bones is leaving in three days.

That's all it takes.

I don't know if I like the gambling addiction better or... No, I think I like the addiction better.

I walk to the nearest slot machine and put in a coin. I don't know why, since I never actually won anything from these stupid things. But I'm positive I won't willingly step into a casino anymore for the rest of my life, and this could count as a little symbolic farewell.

I'm not sure what I expected, but I'm not as surprised as I should be when there's a jingling sound announcing that I win money. And I'd won a thousand bucks. Of course, I just _had_ to win today, of all days, when I've never won anything from slot machines before and never will again. Life is a bitch with a weird sense of humor, and I'm too depressed about Bones to care.

I stare at the machine without moving for a little while. I chuckle bitterly. Then I walk straight out of there and drive myself home without any more unexpected stops, leaving the money to any poor bastard desperate enough to scoop it up.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm back. Aaah, why do I have such a fondness for long and melodramatic angst? :D Fluff is always nice, but angst just has a little something more. (Or maybe it's because I suck at fluff.)_

*****

To my utmost irritation, Angela was more set against my move to Canada than Booth, her main argument being "But you haven't had sex with Booth yet, and I've been waiting for years, sweetie!" Cam and Hodgins were obviously curious about the cause for my sudden departure, but they were much less obstinate than Angela and I was grateful for their understanding. I tried to keep away from the lab as much as possible, yet in the end it was just as unfeasible as staying away from Booth.

After a lecture from Angela over the nature of my feelings for my partner, how much I'm scared of confronting them and how running away from everything wasn't the answer, she finally stormed out of my office. I was left with a feeling of frustration and some time to think. Everything about my resignation was in order, but I wanted to see the lab once more. I doubted my new job would have such perfectly furbished facilities or a staff half as friendly and passionate about decomposing corpses. I also doubt any of my future colleagues in Montreal will look as good in a suit as Booth. Not that it matters. When Booth struts in holding a cup of coffee for me, I feel a little glad that they found a dead body, that's all.

The door opens and I look up to see none other Booth knocking on the doorframe, a little teasing smile playing on the corners of his lips. He is wearing his gray furniture mover T-shirt today.

"Hey Bones," he greets me softly.

I had hoped to avoid him, but of course he manages to infiltrate himself into my already unpleasant day.

"What do you want, Booth?" I ask him with an involuntary edge to my voice.

"I don't know. I didn't see you yesterday. How did you spend your time?"

"I… I went to the cemetery," I admit. After all, he is the one who reminded me of my mother.

"…Oh," was the only reply he could think of, after gaping at me for a second or two. "That's… I mean… good for you."

"What about you? Did you use your day for a more pleasant purpose?" I ask wryly.

He leaned back on the doorframe, and I could see him working his jaw back in forth in thought. He must have done something stupid he isn't sure I should be told about.

"I, well, since you're being so honest, I went to…" He hesitates. Sighs. Fidgets with the chip in his pocket. "Ok, don't panic or anything, but I went to a casino yesterday."

I immediately start to panic. Am I wrecking his life after all? He can't fall back to his old gambling addiction because I'm leaving him, I can't possibly let that happen. I have to stay. If I don't, I will truly destroy what little happiness and stability we have both fought so hard to attain…

"Woah, Bones, I didn't do anything, alright? Don't look at me like I murdered your pet turtle. I just stood there for a while, and watched the roulette, and I put a coin into a slot machine and walked out. I didn't even go near a Craps table."

"So you didn't turn into a degenerate gambler again?"

"No. And if I ever do, I'd want you to shoot me."

"Oh."

It was my turn to be speechless. The affectionate wave of pride I unwillingly felt was quickly squashed by the realization that yes, Booth can cope without me. Booth doesn't need me with him. I should leave after all, but let's face it, I am clinging to every last reason I can conjure to stay. I need him more than he is ever likely to need me. Am I a terrible person for feeling disappointed when I find out Booth did not relapse by my fault?

"Bones? Are you ok?"

"What? Yes, yes. I was just… I'm… I'm busy right now, so if you could…" I pretend to be absorbed with the contents of my drawer.

"Nah, we gotta enjoy the time we've still got together, right? And I'm pretty sure you didn't eat any lunch..." he looked at his watch, "when it's already one thirty now. Unless you ate a granola bar, which you _know_ doesn't qualify as lunch. Plus, I'm starving and Cam says all your lab paperwork is cleared, so you really don't have any good reason to refuse."

"I don't have time to eat. I have last minute packing to do," I lied. If I'm leaving, then I might as well spare myself more suffering. I hate nostalgia, and eating at the diner one last time will probably make me tear up yet again. I do _not_ want Booth to hug me.

"You? Last minute packing?" He chuckled. "I know you better than that, I think. You probably got everything done a week ago." He held up my jacket. His smile was lovely and his eyes were too sad for me to bear. Would this be the last time I feel the fleeting touch of his fingers against my shoulders as he slips my jacket on?

Then I snapped.

"Why do you do this, Booth?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you always have to drag me to lunch when I don't want to go? Why do you force me to do things when I make it _absolutely clear_ that I have other responsibilities to attend to? You know I can take care of myself perfectly well. I don't need you to remind me when I don't eat my lunch, or, or to open the car door for me, or to help me put a coat on, or to squeeze yourself into every facet of my life, all right? I am sick and tired of your sexist gentlemanly attitude. Do you even know how conceited and controlling your behavior towards me comes across to others? Why can't you just… leave me alone, you stupid selfish bastard? It's not like I can't survive without you!"

…Oh my God. I called him a stupid selfish bastard. I sink against my desk. I pass a hand over my face. What the hell is wrong with me? What excuse do I have for purposefully wounding him in every way?

There is a dreadful silence before either of us utters another word.

"Is this why you're leaving?" he whispers. He drops my jacket on the floor and walks right into my face, his tall form towering over my bent head. I don't want to see his expression.

He gently places his knuckle underneath my chin and lifts my head toward the hurt in his eyes.

"Bones. Answer my question," he whispers softer. He is so close that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

It would have been so easy to say something else, like stay with me, or I love you, or make love to me and hold me in your arms and never let me go. "Just get out," I tell him instead. My eyes flicker down.

And in a flash, he's gone. The door closes behind him, leaving me on my own.

I decide to do the only thing I do not regret that day.

*****

"Booth!" I hear her yell behind me while I walk away as fast as I can. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know what took over me, it's just… I had a terrible day and I took it out on you, and _I didn't mean it_, Booth!" I'm still walking away, and I know she's following me but I don't turn back.

"I lied. I never thought you were too controlling, and I like that you care about me, and I only said those things because… I don't know why I said what I said but I'm so, so sorry. Can you please forgive me? Please?"

Of course I'll forgive her, right? I'm Booth. I'm the guy who forgives her when she sleeps with Jared, my own moronic drunk brother. I'm the guy who puts up with Rebbecca's bitchiness and her control over my son's schedule. I'm the guy who will always put his loved ones before him and I obviously won't care when the woman I've secretly been in love with for years thinks I'm a selfish bastard, right?

Hodgins and the intern with the stupid accent are watching us from the platform. They both quickly pretend to be interested in a pile of muck when they see me look their way. I almost want to shoot that stupid Brit's face off and make Hodgins watch. Almost.

But then Bones launches herself onto my chest and starts sobbing, and I forget all about shooting people.

"Wow. Don't cry, don't cry…" I pat her hair clumsily, almost by instinct. I absolutely hate it when she cries. And it works perfectly for her because I forget about being angry and focus on making her stop her crying instead.

"You know I feel horrible about leaving you here, Booth… You know I…"

"I know, I know."

"I didn't mean any of it. Absolutely none."

"It's fine, I forgive you. Shhh, calm down Bones. Stop crying, I hate it when you cry."

"I'll miss you. I'll miss you so much."

"And I can't imagine my life without you anymore. You have no idea how big of a place you have in my heart…"

"And I'll even miss how you force me to eat lunch, even though it's annoying." I laugh painfully. "I… And I need you but I can't admit it, and I'm always thinking about you lately and it's driving me crazy, and I lo… I… I… You're…"

The rest of it is nothing but an incoherent mumble, but I feel like the whole entire lab is watching Dr. Brennan cry against my neck. And I don't care. As much as I didn't want to forgive her, as usual I do in the end. I feel like we both need this, this moment when we can both finally break down, when everything, even silent tears are filled with truth. We don't have to lie to each other and pretend that nothing has changed, or that neither of us cares if she leaves.

I close my eyes and memorize the feeling of her soft hair on my cheek.

*****

_You know, as much as I want B&B to be happy, I still get way too enthusiastic about tormenting fictional characters. And maybe that's why I suck at fluff._


	4. Chapter 4

_I haven't had much time to write things I want, and this chapter was painfully put together piece by piece while listening to the Beatles, many different movie soundtracks, wistful old French songs, and other things that are a little harder to admit. I tried to work on it whenever I had a little energy and motivation regardless of whether or not I had time because God knows I had no time (inspiration slapping me in the face during exam week is _so not good_). Even though I'm not entirely satisfied with the end result after working on it during extended sessions of procrastination and finishing it in the __Toronto__ airport, here it is finally. Yes, I'm a crappy/lazy writer/human being._

*****

When I woke up, I felt pretty normal. Another crappy morning, that's all. It's only when I started brushing my teeth that it hit me. _She's leaving tomorrow._

It didn't feel like so soon. I thought I still had a little bit of time. But tomorrow, tomorrow's way too soon. Where did all our time go? Not long ago we still had some left, didn't we?

Now I've got one day. What am I gonna do with one day? There are too many things I want to do. I want to skate with her again. I want to solve another case. I want to see her hunched over gross remains with a neat pony tail and a blue lab coat. I want her to disagree with absolutely everything I say while we're driving back from a crime scene. I want her to hug me like she did yesterday. I want to watch a movie on the couch with her. I want to kiss her under the mistletoe, I want to trail my fingers along her jaw like I've always dreamed to, and beg her, plead with her to stay for me.

And pray I'm good enough of a reason.

But I'm not going to do any of those things, am I?

I guess I'll sit around and mope.

I call in at work and tell them I'm sick. Apparently I "really do sound awful" and "should rest as long as I want". Either I'm miserable enough to fake a cold or they know Bones is leaving tomorrow. Hopefully they don't pity me right now. I can imagine the conversations around the coffee machine.

"I heard Booth's partner is leaving tomorrow, and he's so depressed that he didn't come to work." "Poor guy. He never had the guts to tell her he's in love with her." "Yeah, he's pathetic, isn't he?"

For Christ's sake, I'm like a self-pitying teenager who got dumped for the first time. She's just my partner. I'll get a new one. Cam was talking about hiring Clark instead, maybe. I mean, Clark isn't Bones, but I'm sure I'll get along with him after a few years of adjustment. The good thing about him is that I'm not likely to fall in love with the guy.

She's leaving tomorrow. My God, she's leaving tomorrow. Oh God, oh God...

*****

The phone rings and I foolishly pick it up. I should know better considering the incessant manner in which Angela tried to punch through my door this morning, but a little part of me wishes the caller to be… someone else.

I nervously hold the phone up to my ear. "Hel…"

"You're breaking his heart."

"What?" No greetings to soften the blow. Just Angela's flat, cold voice.

"You are. You're literally breaking his heart."

"What? Wh…" I scramble for an answer and finally decide to hide behind my usual wall of rationality. "I cannot literally break his heart, Angela. It might be possible for me to figuratively crush an individual's heart, but as you know the heart doesn't control human emotions. It simply pumps…"

"Stop deflecting. Everybody saw him holding you in the middle of the lab. You started blubbering on his shoulder. You want to stay just as much as all of us do, but if you are too freaking _dense_ to stay for yourself, you can at least stay for Booth, can't you?"

"Leave me alone, Angela. Banging on my door for six minutes didn't change my decision, do you think I'll be swayed by a simple phone call?"

"How can you still choose to go, sweetie?" Angela's voice became pleading. "I mean, I _bawled_ when I saw you two hug each other. I was totally sure you wouldn't be able to leave him after that, you of all people should be able to see how much you'll destroy him if you go away."

"Booth will be fine without me."

"He called in sick today."

"He is overly emotional at times, but I know him and he'll be fine."

"What about the rest of us? We love you, Brennan, we're all a big weird dysfunctional family held together by gross bodies, and you, and Booth. You belong here with us, not in Montreal with weird French people."

"They're not French. The French settlers…"

"Stop it! I don't want to talk to the anthropologist with tons of PhDs. Right now I want to talk with my stupid best friend who butt-headedly refuses to see the light. Why won't you listen to any of us? Even Sweets begged you to reconsider. Do you even know how hard your dad is taking it, by the way?"

Of course I do. But Russ has kept himself out of jail and Amy's girls are perfectly fine. They are sufficient to occupy him, especially if they throw a wedding. In all likelihood, his life will be relatively unaffected.

"Your dad got himself arrested so he could be close to you again…"

"I know. I know Angela. None of your arguments are new to me. I have already contemplated every aspect of the situation, and I'm still leaving no matter what you say."

"URGH. Why? _Why_?" she groans.

"I told you a dozen times, they need my expertise…"

"So you're leaving because some boring old Canadian guy is retiring? Is that all we mean to you, Brennan? No. You won't leave, mark my words. Instead you will admit your love for your trusty FBI agent, and you will do it in a beautiful, perfect…"

"Hackneyed."

"…Adorable manner, and you'll get married, and I'll be the maid of honor, and you two will name your first child Angela out of pure gratefulness because you're so glad you chose to listen to me after all."

"Ange, it's not funny."

"Seriously, Brennan. You aren't leaving. I know it."

"And what exactly makes you so sure?"

"Destiny." She tells me in an utterly serious way.

"Heh. _Please_, you cannot honestly believe…"

"You're not meant to go. Not like this. Don't you know it too, deep down?"

I don't know.

"There's still too much unfinished business around here for you to go away. And I refuse to believe you and Booth will never hook up, it's just too depressing for me to think of."

"We're just partners." My answer is tired and automatic. She snorts, but I go on. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, Angela. I'll miss you."

"Well I won't miss you, because I won't need to, because you're not going anywhere…"

"Ange, let it go."

She says nothing for a while. "Oh, sweetie. You're such an idiot."

"But I am merely…"

"This isn't Jamaica or even Peru, this is Canada we're talking about. Whatever you're doing this for has better be really worth it."

"You don't have to make such a big deal over this. We can still keep in touch…"

"Did you say goodbye to Booth yet?"

*****

Why am I getting so worked up over her? It's her own life, she can do whatever she wants with it. It's not like she has any obligations to me, we're nothing more than partners. Coworkers. Occasional drinking buddies.

What's so great about her, anyway? She does nothing but drive me crazy, and this latest decision of hers proves my point. It's not like we had a chance, even if she stayed. If Rebecca flatly refused to marry me, then I can only imagine what Bones would do if I proposed. Probably knee me in the balls and buy a first-class plane ticket to Guatemala, or Sudan, or some other place nobody else ever goes to except her.

A woman struts up next to my seat and drops her purse right in front of my face. I bend down and dutifully pick it up.

"Oh, thank you sir," she says in an excessively sweet voice, a big sultry smile splattered all over her face.

"No prob," I mumble back.

"I'm Chelsea."

"Hi." Why won't this person leave me alone?

"You want anything? Drinks on me." She slips unto the stool next to mine and I try very hard not to be too obvious about my annoyance. Apparently she doesn't understand basic body language for "I'ma punch you if you sit there."

"No, I was just leaving." I throw a few bills onto the counter and finish my coffee in one gulp. Seriously, since when do girls hit on me in the diner? I can't help it if they do it in bars, but come on, not in the diner.

Maybe it's because I don't have Bones with me.

How exactly did I survive before I met her? I can't even remember anymore. There'll be nothing to do with half my time after she leaves. All I could spend my free time doing is stroll around the city thinking of her, like right now. That, and fight with Rebecca for parental rights. Maybe I should drag her to court. Our arguing doesn't seem worth it anymore.

I wonder how long it takes to drive from DC to Montreal.

*****

What if Booth isn't home? It might be a little late to worry since I'm almost there. But calling him first, simply to ascertain his location, would have been a good idea instead of rushing to his home without warning. Angela was right, though. I need to say goodbye to Booth before I leave. I visited Zack one last time, I arranged to have my personal belongings shipped to Canada, I completed all the necessary steps for my resignation with Cam, I left a substantial amount of money for Max and Russ, I put some flowers on my mother's grave, and I even hugged Hodgins (and Booth) while everyone on the forensic platform stared at me as though I had gone mad. I suppose the only task that remains is bidding farewell to my partner.

What if he's truly sick? It's rather pretentious to assume he took a day off simply because of me. Maybe I should have brought soup. Then I could pretend I came to see him after learning of his supposed illness. Ah well, too late now.

I knock on the door. Ring the doorbell. Twice.

He's not home.

Before I can feel stupid, footsteps slowly resonate from the staircase.

"Whatcha doing here, Bones?"

Now I feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

"I heard you were sick. I came by to see you."

"I… feel better now. I took a walk, and it really helped."

"Good."

The obligatory awkward silence resonates in the hallway. The amount of awkward silences between us has grown lately.

"You wanna come in?" He motions toward the door.

"Oh, no, I should let you rest."

"No, not at all, you can stay and we could… we could…" He blankly stares at me in panic. I can almost see him running through the options in his brain.

"We could watch a movie." He seems utterly relieved to be able to think of something. I feel a familiar pinch in my chest, knowing that my departure has lately deprived him of the smile he wears. When will I see him smile again? Never?

I don't want him to stop smiling to appease my own regrets this time. I want him to keep smiling forever. But I'm the one who's taking away his happiness, and it seems like a terrible, terrible sin.

What do I do?

Maybe I should just… make the most of it. He's happy to see me now, at least.

"Bones?"

"Sure, I would love to see a movie."

He claps. "Great! Awesome."

He opens the door and leads me in with his hand on my back. It feels normal. Everything feels so normal. Even though I have never seen a movie on Booth's couch, it is exactly the sort of thing we would have done before.

We both still know how to be normal, if only for a short while. It feels good to know.

"What do you wanna watch?"

"I don't know. What do _you_ want to watch?" I reply. In all likelihood, the amount of movies Booth has seen exceeds mine.

"Well since you love your classics so much, we could watch one. I'm all up for something long and almost boring for tonight." He opens a drawer. "They're all in here. Take your pick." I crouch next to him and scan through the titles.

"You have a lot of DVDs," I point out. "How do you find the time to watch them all?"

"You know, I haven't seen all of them. I always tell myself I'll get around to it and in the end I never do." He follows me into a crouching position and leans over my right shoulder. His voice is soft.

"Which one would you recommend? Hey, It Happened One Night, I remember watching that with my father. And The Treasure of Sierra Madre… And you even have Gone with the Wind."

"Um yeah, one of my exes must have left it here."

"Oh. Really. Come on Booth, I've known for years that you're a sappy romantic, no need to hide it."

"Hey!" He laughs and nudges me in the ribs.

"What is Gone with the Wind about anyway? My dad said it was too depressing for little girls. He didn't like watching Casablanca with me either. Or the Godfather."

He smirks. "The Godfather is way too violent for little kids, and Gone with the Wind is kinda racist. They're both great films, but come on."

"I see. What is Casablanca about, then?"

He stays quiet for a short awkward moment.

"You know, maybe we could watch something long and almost boring that's _not_ a classic."

"Sure. Absolutely. What movie do you have in mind?"

"Pfff. Let's see. The Lord of the Rings? There's nothing better than a bunch of sweaty and bearded men cutting up a bunch of orcs for hours and hours."

"That's a rather strange description but I'll trust your judgment this time."

"Wow. Since when do _you_ listen to me?"

*****

Why did I pick Lord of the Rings? Because it's really, really, really long. Longer than anything else I have. It's not a date film at all, but it will keep her with me for a while. I don't think I could handle something romantic anyway. Watching Gone with the Wind or Casablanca with Bones snuggled against me sounds like torture.

Maybe it's a good thing that Bones doesn't know what Casablanca is about. I feel a little like Humphrey Bogart, watching the woman I love drift away from me and encouraging her to go. 'cept there are no visa thingamabobs, no wars, and no ambassador husbands in her life. She's going away because she wants to.

What, now I'm comparing myself to Bogey? I need to snap out of it.

I microwave some popcorn while the film begins and plop down next to her with my big transparent plastic bowl resting on my lap, filled to the brim with salty goodness.

"I see no sweaty men so far," she points out. "Bearded, yes, but not sweaty."

"They'll come, Bones. Don't be so impatient."

"I'm not impatient, just making an observ…"

"Shh, I can't hear what the elf lady is saying."

"Do you have any idea how unhealthy it would be to eat such an outrageous amount of popcorn in one sitting?"

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but watching a movie with Bones is a very… unique experience. I couldn't fully appreciate it last time because every body part I dared to move was in pain, not to mention that I fell asleep after ten minutes of increasing wooziness. This time though, she keeps saying stuff like "These cultures made no apparent technological advancements in two thousand years." and "This appears to be set in the European Middle Ages. Or at least it must be loosely based on a bizarre version of medieval Western Europe." and "Doesn't Gandalf's rebirth parallel the resurrection of Christ?"

Why did we never do this before? It feels so natural to sit on my couch with a big bowl of slowly disappearing popcorn, making fun of how girly Legolas looks. ("He has exceptionally effeminate features. His slender frame doesn't help either." "Mmmh, you're right. I think a lot of it is because of that wig he's wearing too. "Well you wouldn't look like a woman even if you wore that long blonde wig, would you?" "I…Wow. Now I have a really creepy image in my head.")

It's the first and possibly last time I have a movie marathon with Bones, and the only thing I can think of is why the _hell_ we never did this before. Even though it's unhealthier than pie, Bones slowly starts stuffing her face with popcorn right along with me.

Jesus, the Lord of the Rings is really long. We still aren't done with the second film. Did we seriously sit here for hours? Mmm, the popcorn's almost gone. Maybe I should microwave some more? Nah, I don't wanna get up and miss anything. Aragorn is decapitating orcs in Helm's Deep right now, Gandalf should show up soon, Bones might have something funny to say while I'm in the kitchen, and the pressure of her head against my shoulder feels nice...

When did her head end up on me? I didn't even realize we were curled up against each other.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did we never do this before?"

I chuckle a bit. Why, that's exactly what I was thinking too.

"I think we were too busy catching murderers."

"It's nice. We should have done it more often." She tilts her face up.

Her eyes are full of tears.

I quickly sit straight and grab a box of tissues for her. "Woah, Bones, Bones, why are you crying? Don't cry. Here, blow your nose. Don't cry, alright?" What the hell did I do wrong this time?

"I'm not crying. I mean, the film is sad, that's why I'm crying. It's just…"

"Yeah, you're mourning for the evil CGI orcs. You think I'll buy that? Oh come on, come over here…"

*****

He easily envelops me against him, and as usual I am tiny, frail, and utterly safe in his arms. I feel a strong and steady heartbeat thumping against my chest, and for a second I cannot distinguish whether it is his or mine.

I want to stretch this moment into infinity.

"I'll miss you," I whisper against his neck, so softly I wonder if he is able to hear. He stiffens immediately.

"Booth? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he shakes his head, averting my gaze. "I… You… I was just thinking about some stuff. You know when you ran after me in the lab yesterday?" he asks.

Oh, _that_. I was hoping we could avoid this conversation for the next few years. Damn my stupid tears…

"I don't get it," he admits.

"Get what?" I untangle myself from the comfort of his arms and sit as far away as the couch allows me.

"Why are you still leaving?"

"Please, not this again…"

"No, I mean, you started crying on me in front of everyone, and you said you didn't want to go. And then you decided to go through with it anyway. Today you come to say goodbye and we end up cuddled up on the sofa eating popcorn and having a goddamn Lord of the Rings marathon. When I start thinking about it, it doesn't make any sense at all."

"You were the one who suggested the movie."

He passes his hands over his face. "You know that's not what I meant. For a moment I'd honestly thought you wouldn't leave anymore, Bones. I thought you'd seen the light, that you would stay here in DC. And yet you're still going away tomorrow and I don't... I don't get it. Either you lied about wanting to stay, or you have a better reason to go than... me." He smiled. "God, I sound pathetic," he murmured under his breath. "Look. I know I won't change your mind, I just don't understand what's happening right now."

"You're not pathetic. Don't say things like that," I reply curtly. "And your reasoning is wrong. You make it sound like I'm leaving to inflict deliberate pain on you, but you know I would never... You know, don't you?"

"Yeah… Yes."

He stares at me. I stare back.

"Maybe I should head home." I stand up, hoping he will prevent my departure. Maybe even yell at me.

"But Bones, the trilogy isn't over." He pulls out the third DVD from under a cushion. "Besides, we made it this far through, we might as well finish the Return of the King, right? There's an army of dead green people, it's pretty cool."

I am suddenly grateful for this series' length.

*****

She didn't answer my question. I try to ignore it yet it's still there, ruining the easy and comfortable vibe we'd shared so far. She's leaving tomorrow and I'll never know why. I'll never be able to watch The Lord of the Rings again without feeling terribly lonely, without asking myself what made her run. I think I'm gonna sell all my movies on Ebay as soon as she leaves.

My God, why, _why_ did we never do this before? I want to get angry, but I feel too tired and sad to force it out of my weary mind.

"Booth?"

"Huh?"

"Does Arwen leave?"

"What?"

"Does she leave? In the end?"

"Nah. She stays."

"Oh. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why does she stay?"

"Pfff, I don't know. She wants to."

"But she'll be miserable if she stays."

"She'll be more miserable if she leaves."

"And how is she certain that she's making the right decision?"

"I don't think she's certain at all."

"And yet she chose to stay."

"Mm-hm."

"For _love_."

"It's not a bad reason."

She says nothing.

"It's a Hollywood movie, Bones. If Tolkien wants his cheesy happy ending, it doesn't mean... It means nothing."

"There are no such things as cheesy happy endings in real life, I suppose."

"Guess not."

I suddenly wish I owned the Harry Potter films instead.

*****

"I'm sorry Angela didn't come," Hodgins apologizes for her even though I know for a fact that he pleaded with her to no avail.

I shake my head. "I never expected her to."

"Have fun in Quebec. It's a great place. Remember that year when we got stuck in the lab for Christmas, and this French-Canadian masseuse came over…"

"I remember, Hodgins."

He nods. Puts his hands in his pockets. Stares at his shoes. Looks back up at me, then at the other travelers hurriedly rushing through the gate or waving at their loved ones.

My father suddenly hugs me tightly, taking me by surprise. "You be careful up there in Canada, honey. It's awful cold, and we wouldn't want you catching a pneumonia and dying from it. I know you can take care of yourself, but I'd honestly be a little less worried if you could fly to a country where they allow beautiful rich women to carry guns."

"Dad, Montreal is safer than DC. I'll be fine. Besides, I won't be working with the FBI anymore, which means that the likelihood of receiving creepy cannibal cases or being stalked by mentally deranged individuals is much smaller."

"Well, I don't want you up there all alone. What am I going to do without you, Tempe? You're leaving your old man all by his lonesome?"

"Convince Russ to marry Amy. It should keep you occupied."

"Oh, Tempe, don't say it like that," Russ interrupted. "You make it sound like a terrible thing."

"It's not a bad thing, Russ. If Amy can keep you out of jail, it's a very good thing."

Silence again.

"Well, goodbye Dr. Brennan. It was a privilege to work with you."

"You too, Cam."

"Mr. Fisher couldn't make it, he said something about being depressed by people leaving him all the time. And then he rambled on into some kind of confusing speech about the meaning of life and death."

"But it is depressing, though. We'll miss you at the lab, Dr. Brennan."

"You play hockey with Booth, not with me. As long as the transition goes smoothly, Booth will continue to work with Dr. Edison. Right, Booth?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Em, well…"

"I'm glad you trust me with your position, Dr. Brennan."

"Not at all. If you cannot withstand the pressure, I'm certain a more suitable replacement will be found."

"Well... I'm thankful for your honesty."

"A little snippy there, Bones."

"No see, the point is, we will all miss you. You have created a family for yourself, and severing the ties you made is a difficult task, not only for you but for the ones you love. Things aren't going to be the same around here without your partnership. I mean, watching two damaged souls help and, and complete each other to achieve…"

"Not now, Sweets."

"I'm not damaged!"

"But Lance is right, you know. The lab won't be the same without the cute bickering, not to mention Dr. Brennan's utter brilliance..."

"Guys, guys. Maybe we should let her leave now?"

"Yeah, guys, seriously."

"Bye Dr. B."

"We'll miss you."

"Come visit us when you've got a hole in your schedule."

"Want a hug? No? Maybe next time?"

"Goodbye, everyone. Tell Zack I'll miss him."

"You're coming, Booth?"

"Nah, I'm gonna stay for a little bit."

Max claps him on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear, probably asking him to arrest me so I won't be able to leave the country.

They wave back as they go, and soon the small crowd has disappeared except for one person. I feel as if I am slowly waking up from a dream. I'm leaving. I'm really leaving. It's real. Booth is with me, and I'm going to leave, and then he won't be with me anymore.

"I'll be seeing you, right? You'll visit us soon," he snaps me out of my little bout of panic.

"Of course." I don't know whether or not this is a lie.

He nods.

"Will you try to convince me of the foolishness of my decisions?" I try to come across as flippant and only manage to sound resentful.

"No, I know I can't change your mind. But I do think that this is a bad idea."

I open my mouth and close it again.

"Well. Goodbye."

"Bye."

He gives me a small shadow of a smile that doesn't quite reach the wrinkles around his eyes. He takes my hand. Then he slowly leans over my face and gently, tenderly kisses my brow. I close my eyes. I can feel the soft touch of his skin against mine, with just the tiniest bit of stubble on his chin. His breath is warm. His lips are warm. His hands are warm. Everything about his presence is warm, and I feel a fleeting terror that I'll never feel this kind of warmth again. I quickly inhale his smell as deeply as I can to prevent myself from forgetting it. Then his lips are gone, he straightens up, my hand drops back to my side, and even though he is still here, I am already alone.

I feel cold.

*****

It's surreal and anticlimactic. I've loved her for years, wanted her for even longer, and my hopes all come crashing down in this one little moment in time, in front of airport security, with hundreds of strangers coming and going without noticing the way this woman is ripping my heart out and stomping all over it. And I'm willingly giving it to her, without anger or too much resentment, simply because that's what she wants. Maybe it makes me a coward. A doormat. But of course, she'll be back, right? Or am I just trying to convince myself?

She tries to smile but she sort of gives up before she has a chance to finish. She turns. I'm not ready. I quietly beg her to look back, just to let me see her face one last time, but she doesn't. She walks through customs without difficulties. She finally turns around when I can only recognize her from her hair and her white hat. We stare at each other like statues. Then she slowly turns her back to me again, and I don't know why, but I feel like I'll never see her again.

And before I know it, she's gone.

It doesn't take much to break a guy. All you need is a wonderful woman, walking away with dry eyes and a flight to catch. And a heart for her to crush.

_***** _

_Ahh. Bones and Gone with the Wind. The two loves of my life._

_And no, it's not over. It might take me five years to finish the stupid thing, but it's not over until I say so.  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_Ha! It didn't take five years for me to update! I am so proud of myself. *sniffs* So it's not the fastest update ever, but it's pretty good since it took me three months last time._

_*****_

"Another one, please." I wave at the guy with my empty shot glass.

He puts down his washcloth and stares at me. "I hope you aren't driving, buddy."

"Oh, he's not driving," a voice says behind me. For a wild second, I believe that Bones has come back from Canada to save me from my drunken loneliness. Nope. Skin like milk chocolate. It's either Cam or some other black lady who's pretty to look at. I don't feel like paying too much attention at the moment.

"A martini please. And don't serve him _anything_ except water." There she goes, trying to ruin my night. I'm guessing this is Cam because now she's sitting next to me and it really looks like her from up close.

"You, are a mean African American lady who looks like Cam. I want another drink."

"Hey, you know who else is mean? Alcohol poisoning. Seriously Seeley, I don't feel like logging around a passed out man who's twice my size, and if you end up with a DUI you won't be able to act all self-righteous in front of Jared anymore. Think about that."

"Maybe I'd die in a car crash, though. That sounds kinda nice." I mean, as long as it's quick. If it isn't quick it could hurt a lot.

"Strange, I always remembered you as a happy drunk."

I sigh. I want a drink. "Why the hell are you here, lady?"

"I was gonna get drunk too, but since you ingested enough alcohol to kill a St Bernard, your wellbeing requires my full attention. I'm worried about you, big fella." Yup, I can see the concern in her face. Sort of. My brain doesn't wanna work too well at the moment. I keep seeing Bones walking away from me in a loop, it's distracting. "Judging by the lovely model of the Himalayas you have expertly crafted with your empty glasses, you mustn't be coping very well with Brennan's departure."

"Actually I'm fine. I'm great. I don't feel like crying as much as before."

"Well gee, that's reassuring." She rolls her eyes and takes a sip from her martini. Why can't I have a martini too? She's mean. "Look, if there's anything I can do to help make things easier…"

"Buy me a drink."

"Except that."

"You're talking like I got my leg chopped off or somethin'. I don't have a brain tumor." Anymore. "There's nothing wrong, I'm just kinda drunk."

"Brennan got chopped off of you. And for your information, you're taking it just as bad."

I down my glass of water. "Myeah. She's worth more than a leg, I guess. You think she'll come back if my leg does get chopped off?"

"Wow, I wish I could say this conversation was reassuring."

"It wasn't?"

"Come on, let's get you home before you do anything as stupid as the stuff that's coming out of your pie hole."

I guess I'm a lost cause. Because as Cam drags me away from the bar, the only thing I can think of is how I wish Bones could be doing it instead of her.

I should have begged her to stay. At least I would've known she wasn't gonna listen. Instead I keep thinking that maybe, maybe if I had, she'd still be here. Maybe it's my own damn fault if she's gone.

"Cam?"

"What?"

"I miss her."

"I know, big guy. I can tell."

*****

"Dr. Brennan? I'm going home now."

"Yes. That's fine."

"It's twelve."

"Mmm-hhm."

"Will you work for very long?"

I look up from the four hundred seventy two year old skeleton. "That is none of your concern, Miss Brossard."

"Dere's nobody left, you know. Only me and you."

"I know."

"It's not my problem, but… I never watch you go home. And when I arrive in de morning, you are always already here. When do you sleep?"

"You are absolutely right, it's not your problem."

Stunned silence.

"I'm… sorry. I'll leave," she whispers.

I must have sounded more forceful than I wanted to. Maybe the lack of human interaction I currently have with my coworkers has impaired the progress I gained from working with Booth.

Booth. I wonder what he's doing right now.

Stop thinking about Booth.

"Good night, Miss Brossard." There, I'm making an effort.

"You too." She practically flees from my presence. Am I really that bad?

My new assistant, a little brunette thing with a heavy French accent, had been awed and overzealous at first. Maybe not quite to Daisy Wick's annoying extent, but she was a fan of my books and worshipped the ground I walked on, which meant nagging me for autographs to distribute among her friends. But as time went by, she grew more and more terrified of me.

I don't know much about her except the fact that she likes my books, that her accent is somewhat distracting, and that she likes hockey and Graze Anatomy. She talks about hockey and Graze Anatomy constantly. It appears that the latter is a television show.

I assume Booth would have liked her for being a "normal" squint, and even more for her hockey obsession.

No, no, stop thinking about Booth!

I try to concentrate on the skeleton again, but now I keep picturing Booth in his hockey uniform.

Booth would never let me work until midnight without attempting to drag me home.

_"Hey Bones, what are you still doing here? C'mon, you gotta go to bed, if the dead guy's already waited for centuries then he can wait 'til morning. What? It's for your own good. Fine, I'm gonna sit here on this lovely… glowy table of death and I'll bother you until you listen. How did you even manage to survive this long without me, huh? You should of died from sleep deprivation years ago."_

I really miss him.

No. Stop thinking about Booth.

*****

"How are you feeling lately, Booth?" I feel like it's the hundredth time Angela has asked that.

"I'm _fine_. Why do people keep asking me stuff like this?"

"You've been a little bit… sad lately. And really cranky. You ignore everyone who tries to talk to you, including me."

"What? No, that's not true. I'm the same as always. I'm just adjusting to… I'm adjusting."

"Knock it off, Booth. You're not fine and we're all worried. You have this little lost puppy look sometimes. It's painful to see."

"A what look?"

"I miss her too, Booth. We all miss her. It's ok."

Usually I like Angela. Really. But right now I have a strange urge to slap some duct tape on her mouth. "Would you mind leaving me the hell alone? I got a job to do, if you haven't noticed."

I turn my back to her and hope that she'll drop the subject (but this is Angela and she never truly does). "Clark! What the hell are you doing? Bones would have shown me results two days ago! Even Zack was better than you, and _he_ kept asking me for advice in sex positions while secretly working for a psychotic cannibal guy. What'd you think, that murderers magically let themselves get caught?"

"Booth…" I feel Angela's hand on my shoulder and I snatch it off, probably a bit more violently than I should have.

"Ange. The last thing I want is your goddamn pity, sostop it."

Before Angela's surprised look is gone from her face, Hodgins appears out of nowhere.

"Hey, man. You sure you're holding up all right?"

"Argh! What is _wrong_ with you people for Christ's sake?"

*****

Montreal is unmercifully cold in February. I nod at the doorman, glad that there are no stairs for me to clean up. The heavy snow must be a pain to shovel in this weather, and a ridiculous amount of two-stories apartments display staircases located on the outside of the building.

In the elevator, I brush the snow off my scarf.

I unlock the door.

I sink into the couch.

I have never come home at a decent hour since I started working here before, and frankly, I'm not sure it was a good idea. Now that I'm here, I can think of nothing else to do but more work. My apartment is smaller than before, a bit more bare. There are artifacts from all over the world strewn almost haphazardly on the shelves, a great deal of books shoved in alphabetical order behind the artifacts, and no carpet on the cold linoleum. I have no need for a carpet. I spend most of my waking hours working on skeletons, and all I truly need in my home is a bed to fall on and a pillow to muffle the occasional tears.

It's always the small details that I miss. Like Angela calling me "sweetie", Hodgins yelling "King of the Lab" even though no one competes with him for the title, my mother's beautiful black hair and my father appearing on my doorstep for a game of Blitz. A few years ago I would have longed for the superior equipment in the Jeffersonian more than the actual human beings I left behind.

And there's Booth. But I don't want to think about Booth.

The phone rings, brusquely breaking my reverie.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Brennan?"

"Sweets? Why are you... Um… Hi." I received numerous calls from Angela, my father, Russ, and even Cam over the past month, all urging me to rethink what they believe is the worst mistake in my life. I did not expect a call from Sweets, however.

"Dr. Brennan, I would really appreciate it if you could call Booth. Like, right now."

"Why? What happened?"

"Well apparently you forgot to call him since you left, and he's not very happy about it. In fact, he's yelling at Caroline in front of his office."

"I… But… I was waiting for him to call me first…"

"Please, just do it? Don't you think you at least owe him that?"

"Of course."

*****

"Hey."

"Good evenin'."

"Yeah, I need a warrant for that idiot b*stard's hou…"

"You been actin' miserable lately, cheri."

"_No_. I'm fine. Can we please get back to the case…" Man, I feel so tired. I think I'll need a vacation some time soon. Not confident I can keep this up much longer.

"Yes, you sure have. You get snippy with everyone when they try to help ya, even me, and you weren't snippy with me before Dr. Brennan left us. You were always too scared of me for that kinda attitude. Now you just don' care anymore 'bout anything."

"Come on Caroline, not you too." And now Caroline's giving me a sermon instead of a warrant. Great.

"Don't think I don' see ya mopin' around like a lost puppy…"

"Why do people keep calling me a puppy?"

"…And I know you took Dr. Brennan's leaving real hard. Sweets says that you ain't talking to your squints about her either…"

"If anyone else asks me about my feelings, I think I'll shoot myself."

"Well how _are_ ya feelin'? Really? We're only asking 'cause we wanna know, and we wanna know 'cause we're worried you might do something even dumber than usual, darling. And don' tell me that you're fine, I won't take it for an answer."

"…"

"I'm waitin'."

"Alright. Alright, well I miss her. Are you happy now? I miss her so much that if I see her again, I don't know if I'll kiss her or strangle her first. And everyone's been acting like I'm some kind of… of invalid, that I can't do anything without her. Just because she's gone without even calling me _once_ doesn't mean that I can't go on doing my job properly anymore, alright? I don't need her to do anything. I don't need her. At all. If she can go on with her life without granting me a single thought, I won't give her the luxury of completely screwing up _my_ mind in return. She was only my partner anyway, it's not like my pregnant life decided to move to Canada. And all of you, you look at me with these looks, and this _pity_ and I can't take it anymore. She was only my partner, it's not like I've known her all my life, and it's not like I didn't get by without her before she decided she was sick of this place and of all of us…"

My phone starts ringing. I stare at it dumbly.

"You gonna pick up or keep lookin' at it?"

"God… It's Bones."

"What?"

"It's Bones. Bones is calling me. She finally called me. Caroline, she finally called me."

I'd pretty much given up on her. I mean, she's ignored me for twenty-three days. But even after trying to convince myself that I don't care if she forgets about me, that I will forget the b*tch right back even though I miss her like mad, I can't help feeling strangely ecstatic to see "Bones" written on my cell phone screen.

"It's just a phone call, don' wet yourself." Caroline tells me with a huge grin. I hug her. Then I kiss her puffy hair. "Now here's the smile that's been missin' from your lil' face. Go take your call and I'll get ya your warrant."

"Thanks Caroline. I love you Caroline, you're great, and you're amazing, and you're a freaking Angel…"

I plunge into my office and fumble to open my phone. "Hi, Bones." Wow. It feels good to say that again.

A short silence. And then, "Hey Booth."

"You're calling me." I point it out for no other reason than the humongous happiness I feel right now.

"Indeed, I am."

"Oh God, I missed you so much. How've you been, how's Canada?" I can hear her breathing on the other side of the line. I can hear her pretty voice. It's as if she's real again, and for the first time in weeks she isn't just a lost memory I've been agonizing over. She's still here, she's a tangible human being, she hasn't completely vanished after all. Just close enough to make me to believe she's within my reach, yet impossible for me to actually hold onto. She's exactly the same as usual.

"As you can imagine it's freezing outside. Aside from my lack of friends and the amount of French-speakers walking around on the street, there isn't a huge difference." I bet she was too busy working to visit the place properly. "How are things on your side?"

"Clark isn't you, that's for sure. He's brilliant, but he isn't you. We're really missing you at the lab." I leave out the part where everybody worries over my mental health.

"I feared this would happen. I suppose you can always try to find someone to replace Clark."

"Pff, I wish. The closest forensic anthropologist is in Montreal," I reply wryly.

She laughs. The sound makes me feel warm all over. "Haha. Parlez-vous francais? You remembered that one."

"Of course I remember. I got you arrested, and then you blackmailed me. We had such a friendly, healthy relationship back then." Now our relationship consists of waiting three weeks for a damn phone call while going back and forth between loving her to hating her guts. Better late than never, I guess.

"Booth, I promise I'll talk with Cam. We'll find you a new forensic anthropologist to work with." Why is she so worried about Clark? I don't particularly care about him right now.

"Nah, you don't need to do that, Clark is as good as anyone." The guy has been doing his best to fill those big shoes of hers, and the least I can do is give him some points for trying.

"But as you pointed out, he's not me. Now if I find a replacement closer to my skill level…"

"They won't be you either," I point out.

"No. They won't be. You know, you don't have to be the liaison if you…"

"Clark will be ok." I see no point in getting a new person if the most they'll ever be is replacements for her. No matter how brilliant the new guy is, something will always feel wrong when I peek into Bones' office just to see somebody else sitting there. And I'll admit it, sometimes when I watch Hodgins doing his crazy experiments, it's still a little weird not to see Zack geeking out next to him. If I missed Bones as much as Zack, though, things would be way easier.

"Well. I guess…"

"Bones?" I say with hesitation. Somehow I get the feeling that she'll never call me again if I ask…

"What?"

"Um…" Come on, I can spit it out. I want to know, don't I? "Why didn't you call me?"

There. I said it. At least it'll be one less thing for me to regret never saying to her.

She replies as though it was obvious. "I was waiting for you to call me first."

She was waiting for me? She was waiting for _me_.

"Oh." I just have to laugh at the irony. While I tortured myself waiting for her, was she doing the same thing? God, we can both be such idiots. "That's why, huh."

"And why didn't you call me?" she asks good-naturedly.

"I was waiting for _you_ to call me first." I figured… if she called me first, it would mean that she hasn't forgotten me yet, I still mean something to her, and that there's still hope for the two of us.

"I suppose I did call you."

"Yeah."

Is there hope for the two of us? No. Just wishful thinking. Right?

*****

"Hi, Bones." I close my eyes. It feels so good to hear that stupid nickname again. Frankly, he doesn't sound at all like I had expected. I'm not entirely certain what I did expect, but it wasn't this excitement and hope. This is the tone he speaks with when he has a good theory about the identity of the murderer. I expected… resentment. _"How dare you call me after leaving me like this?"_

"Hey Booth." I choke out.

"You're calling me." He says it as if it's a miracle. I smile.

"Indeed, I am." I can't believe it either. I'm finally talking with Booth again. Has it really been only three weeks since the last time I saw him? It feels like months.

"Oh God, I missed you so much." So did I. "How've you been, how's Canada?"

How is Canada? What a great question. Unfortunately for me, I spent the entirety of my time working instead of visiting the local scenic spots, and my knowledge concerning Montreal remains hazy.

"…As you can imagine it's freezing outside." This is literally the only thing I can comment on about my surroundings. "Aside from my lack of friends and the amount of French-speakers walking around on the street, there isn't a huge difference." An acceptable and extremely vague answer. "How are things on your side?"

"Clark isn't you, that's for sure. He's brilliant, but he isn't you. We're really missing you at the lab." I try to imagine Clark Edison in my position, and the picture fills me with envy. Working in my office. Solving my cases. With _my_ special agent.

A new replacement would be hard to find, but definitely not impossible. After all, the Jeffersonian is renowned for its superior equipment. Keeping Clark Edison and waiting for him to learn the ropes is the most convenient option, but Booth's skills deserve to be paired with the best and I couldn't possibly let my departure hurt his career in any way. I start writing the names of potential candidates on a post-it note.

"I feared this would happen. I suppose you should try to find someone more qualified to replace him," I tell him while I scribble away.

"Pff, I wish. The closest forensic anthropologist is in Montreal," he says with a smile in his voice.

"Haha." He remembered. Wow. "Parlez-vous francais? You remembered that one." I must admit, I'm surprised by his memory.

"Of course I remember. I got you arrested, and then you blackmailed me. We had such a friendly, healthy relationship back then."

Was it so long ago already? I feel as if I witnessed the end of an era in my life. First era, the one with my parents. Second era, the one without my parents. Third era, the one with Booth. And now the fourth, the one without him.

I want to change the subject.

"Booth, I promise I'll talk with Cam. We'll find you a new forensic anthropologist to work with."

"Nah, you don't need to do that, Clark is as good as anyone," he protests.

"But as you pointed out, he's not me. Now if I find a replacement closer to my skill level…"

"They won't be you either," he whispers.

I doubt he knows how much it hurt to hear him say that.

"No." I close my eyes. "They won't be. You know, you don't have to be the liaison if you…"

"Clark will be ok," he affirms. What can I reply?

A short silence.

"Well… I guess..." He interrupts me.

"Bones?" His voice is soft, gentle. I feel a shiver run up my ribs.

"What?"

"Um… Why didn't you call me?"

I smile a bit. I expected an infinitely more terrifying question. "I was waiting for you to call me first." In my mind, if Booth called me, it would mean that he was ready to forgive me, that he had accepted my decision to leave, and that he was doing well enough to talk to me again without feeling betrayed.

"Oh." He chuckled disbelievingly. "That's why."

"And why didn't you call me?" I ask.

"I was waiting for _you_ to call me first." I love Booth's voice. I don't know why. When we first met I thought his voice was intensely annoying, yet now... My eyes are wet. Why are my eyes wet?

"I suppose I did call you," I tell him simply to have something to say.

"Yeah."

I shake my head. Why, I don't think he has moved on at all.

*****

_This chapter was way too long, so I had to cut it in half. The good thing is that I've got some of the next half down already. As long as I don't get run over by a speeding writer's block, an update won't take three months._

_Truth is, I've no idea where this is going. A while ago I had an ending all planned out for the story but now I feel like it isn't set in stone anymore, and I'm anxiously waiting to see what I'll come up with when I eventually get there (Hopefully I _will_ come up with something). It's a strange feeling. I'm in for the ride too, I guess. But at least I have a general direction while you guys got nothing :P. Sorry._


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm gonna be honest with you guys here. The original plan was to write a fairly short multi-chapter fic ending with Brennan's departure two chapters ago. Unfortunately for me (and very VERY fortunately for you angst-haters out there) I had too many ideas left to let it go. So for this chapter I spent an unnecessary amount of time fooling around with Google Streetview, looking up random facts about __Montreal__'s food/people/places, and even learning the names of hockey teams, which all brought back a whole load of nostalgia even though most of it had nothing to do with the chapter. I don't have an ending anymore and God knows what I'll do about that, but I got to write about _my_ city and it was a nice feeling. Thank you for that funny one-liner in the pilot, Hart. _

*****

"What is the name of this… mixture again?"

"Poutine." She throws me a radiant smile and starts chomping on a gravy-soaked French fry.

"Well Miss Brossard, if this is really the food that best represents your province, then all of your compatriots must be terribly overweight."

"Please, call me Melanie."

I poke the pile of fries sitting in my plate, slightly worried by the way the cheese curds bask in a sauce of suspicious consistence. "This has no nutritious value. And what exactly is the source of this gravy… sauce… viscous liquid…" I motion at the so-called poutine with my fork.

"It's brown sauce," she usefully clarifies.

Brown sauce. This tells me absolutely nothing except the color, and identifying the color is not what concerns me.

I take a careful bite. It tastes like the embodiment of diabetes, which coincidentally is exactly what it looks like. So much for opening myself to new experiences. Why do I ever listen to Booth's advice?

"So. Tell me about you." I mumble through my second bite. This is a reasonable way to start a conversation, hopefully.

"Oh, dere is noting to say. I'm eating poutine with Temperance Brennan right now and dat's de most incredible ting happening to me in my life," she laughs. I must admit, poutine isn't so bad. The difficulty lies in ignoring the stupefying unhealthiness of every bite.

"Thank you, I guess…" What do I say now? Hockey. She likes hockey. "You enjoy hockey, am I correct? I once had to solve the case of a hockey-playing fireman dumped in a frozen lake. I sat through a few games. It's quite an interesting sport."

"Oh. Yes, I looove Hockey. It's de middle of de season right now, I'm super excited."

"Yes, it's winter. Do you play in any team?" She seems much too delicate to participate in any of the testosterone-filled punching matches I witnessed.

"Sometimes, when I have breaks. It's fun." I try to picture her wearing a helmet, a baggy jersey, and charging into Booth with a big stick. I'm not confident the top of her head could reach Booth's chin, even with a helmet. "I like watching professional hockey more. Do you have a favorite team, Dr. Brennan?"

Very hard question. "I… I'm…" Are the White Socks a hockey team? What was the name of the team on Booth's shirt again? "I like the Flyers. What about you?"

"Les Canadiens de Montreal, of course," she announces proudly. "You never heared of dem?" she asks after taking in my blank stare. "Nevermind. So are you from Philadelphia? I never knew."

"My knowledge is rather limited when it comes to sports," I admit. "But I know someone who loves the Flyers, and I suppose his enthusiasm has affected my judgment."

She nods. We silently stare at each other, both racking our brains for things to say. "How about family? Do you have any?" Oh, bad question. How do I tell her my father was a bank-robber who killed the ex-Deputy Director of the FBI?

But she seems relieved by the question. "I have two older broders, a _lot_ of family on my faders' side, and my moder is half Russian. Um, I have a dog, his name is Rocket. And I have an ex-husband but we're not really in touch, and my grandpa is in Hawaii…"

"A husband?" How old is she? Younger than mid-twenties, definitely.

"Oh yes, I was married way too young, it didn't work very well."

"I'm… sorry."

"No, it was my fault. I deserved it" She fiddles with the last few fries in her plate. "Do you want to hear the long, boring story of my life?"

"Certainly." If we talk about her, we won't talk about me and my jail-prone family.

"Well. His name is Antoine. We knew each oder for only six months before he was my husband. We went to de same high school, and… I stupidly tought he was de person I'll spend the rest of my life wit, so we got married right after graduation. I don't know why I was so sure."

Her eyes plead for my understanding. I nod at her in what I hope to be a supportive manner.

"Anyway, we ended up being all wrong togeder. There was just someting dat didn't work, and even today I don't know what it was." She stabbed a chunk of cheese and gazed at it in a wistful manner. "I was tired of seeing him every day, we never had anyting to talk about anymore, he didn't understand how I could work wit dead bodies and I couldn't understand why anyone would waste his life on cars, and we were… bored. He was a great guy, but we didn't have what it takes to make it until forever. We grew apart after some time. I was so sick of trying to make it work in de end. So um… I'm not proud of dis last part. We had a fight – I don't even remember what we fought about – and I decided to go out and drink my problems away. Next ting I know I sleep wit some… some random guy because I had too many beers to care, I wake up naked in a stranger's bed de next morning, and I completely broke what's left of my poor Antoine's heart. And dat was it. We were over."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "This sounds like a very unpleasant experience. But from your story, your relationship was over whether you committed adultery or not."

"Yes, you're right, but I discovered I'm a cheating slut. It wasn't a nice feeling." She laughed. It was a troubling laugh. "Antoine deserved better dan dis, you know. He was a good guy, he just was de wrong guy for me. I didn't have to go around sleeping wit people."

"Alcohol has a strong effect on sexual inhibitions. It wasn't entirely your fault."

She looks at me with genuine and rather unsettling affection. "I'm happy you listened at my ramblings, Dr. Brennan."

"It's nothing."

She stays silent for a moment but keeps her eyes on me, as though she still has something to say.

"Is something wrong?" I ask uneasily.

"I always wanted to know… Is it true you had a real FBI partner back in the USA, Dr. Brennan?" Wow, that came from absolutely nowhere.

"Yes I did." Why is she asking me this?

She leans her elbows on the plastic covered surface of the table. "Was Andy inspired by him?"

"_No_," I reply flatly. I hope my tone indicates my unwillingness to discuss the subject, but she ignores it.

"Oh please, tell me about him, Dr. Brennan. Please? Please, please, please?"

"Why?"

"I'm curious. Is he a little bit like Andrew?"

"No."

She seems strangely emboldened by my monosyllabic replies. "Is he hot?"

"Wh… what?"

"I tink he might be hot." She nods knowingly.

"He is… debatably attractive, depending on ones' criteria."

"…Debatably attractive? What does it mean to look like dat?" Is she using her slightly sub par English to manipulate me into revealing personal details about Booth? I have difficulty distinguishing the difference between real and feigned innocence.

I sigh. "Yes, he would probably be considered 'hot' by most modern women. Big muscles, broad chest, nice cheekbones, beautiful acromion." She's incongruously excited by this piece of information.

"What else did he look like? Hair color? Height? Cute butt?" she presses on to my utter annoyance. How did this conversation veer from her ex-husband to Booth's butt?

"Why are you so fascinated by my partner?"

"I like Andy and I want to know how he is in real life."

This girl is quite frustrating. "For the last time, Andy is _not_ based on Booth."

"Is that his name? Boot?"

"Yes, Seeley Booth"

"FBI Agent Boot and Doctor Brennan, the crime-fighting duo. It sounds nice."

She's as annoying as Angela. I want to put an end to this conversation, though it is embarrassingly enjoyable to talk about Booth with this young woman. I didn't allow myself to think about him for so long… I admit I still feel a twinge of pain when I hear his voice on the other end of the line, yet I can't help but bask in the emotion, a little break from the numbness I surround myself with the rest of the day. I allowed myself to feel only as little emotions as possible for quite some time. Now, I almost revel in the bittersweet warmth his image inevitably conveys.

"You could share a little more with the people around you. Who knows, they could be nice. And honestly, I don't really like the idea of you being all alone up there with nobody to talk to," Booth had admitted. It's true, I miss having a confidante. This girl is the only person who refuses to give up on me, everyone else having long ago classified me as a cold b*tch. So I allow myself this moment of weakness.

"He was a great guy."

She is momentarily silenced by my sudden shift in mood.

"He was tall, he had dark brown hair and coffee brown eyes. The broadest shoulders I've ever seen. He looked good in a suit. He looked good in anything to be perfectly frank." I smile. She smiles twice as big.

"And how did he look in noting at all?"

I chuckle. "Do you really think I'll tell you that? He had this smile, and I called it the 'charm-smile' in my head. It worked very well on the women he aimed it on."

"Even you?"

"I developed a tolerance over time."

"You know, he sounds a lot like Andy so far. Tall, dark, handsome, nice smile…" What makes everyone adamantly believe Andy is based on Booth? They barely have any similarities aside from their profession. And maybe some of their physical attributes. A few aspects of their personalities are similar to a degree. But that is the limit of the resemblance, and even if he _is_ based on Booth, what makes her think I will confess to such a thing?

"He's not Andy."

"Ok." She nods obediently.

"He had brown eyes. They were… there is something about brown eyes. Blue eyes are striking and arresting, but dark eyes are more… gentle? Deep? When you look into them you feel surrounded with kindness, and… the loneliness is gone for a little while." I believe this is the corniest thing I've ever said. "Did I mention his excellent bone structure?" I finish gauchely.

"My ex had brown eyes but I never tought about it like dis."

"Well, maybe I'm the one imagining it."

"Or maybe he is special. He sounds very special when _you_ talk about him. And you didn't answer my question, did he have a cute butt or not?"

She reminds me of Angela. I miss Angela.

"Nothing in the universe can coax me into talking about Booth's butt with anyone."

"Den how was his personality? Was he like Andy?"

"He's not… he was nice. Some of the time. The rest of the time he was a cranky #sshole but then again, so am I. He knew me better than most, and he took an astonishing amount of crap from me."

"Define crap?"

"Well, I kissed his brother, I called him a loser without attempting to, and I pushed said brother off a barstool, though hopefully he doesn't know I did. I make him feel inferior by flaunting my intelligence and wealth. Most men don't stay long enough for my personality to become an issue, and when they do… Let's just say Booth has more patience than some others. He really can be very nice. He became furious when he discovered I was planning on leaving to Canada and everybody knew except him, but later one morning he stood on my doorstep trying to apologize with a bag of bagels and a cup of coffee. He didn't seem to realize that I was the one who should apologize."

"Bagels? Wow. I tink I'm in love wit him too, now," she laughs.

"L… Love? Excuse me, are you implying… Why does everyone… You've never even met Booth. I don't… Why must everything always be about love?"

Damn, I can't believe it's still happening. Suspects taking one look at us and instantly assuming we are a couple, little ladies in dresses shops telling us we are made for each other, cheeky best friends urging me to jump my partner. And here is my new assistant somehow concluding that I am in love with him after a few minutes of conversation even though she never laid eyes on Booth.

"Why did you leave? Did he do someting bad?" she suddenly asks. This little chat has suddenly become extremely tiring. The warm, loud, greasy atmosphere suddenly weighs on me. The table is too small and cramped. The wallpaper gives me a headache. I want to flee from everything, alone with a skeleton, organizing my thoughts into coherence again.

"I think it would be best if we both went back to work, Miss Brossard. This lunch break has gone on for long enough."

"Oh. Yes, no, of course."

I stand up. Too hurriedly, apparently, because she asks "Are you ok Doctor Brennan? Did I say something wrong?" The terrified expression is back on her face.

"No, no. You did nothing wrong Miss Brossard," I lie.

"Good. Are you sure?"

I nod impatiently.

"Can I ask one last stupid question?"

I try to smile. "You don't need my permission to ask questions, you know. You just ask."

"Do you still love him? Do you… do you miss him at all? I mean, he must be de guy you call every day, so you must miss him a lot. Is dat why you work all de time witout…"

"That's absolutely none of your business. No, look, I'm not mad at you, it's… let's go. Can we go? We still have a mummy to attend to."

She's generally a pleasant girl, and she managed to coax an unprecedented amount of information from me, but the memory of Booth's voice rings in my head.

"What goes on between us is ours."

There are some things I can openly share with enthusiastic young assistants. Some things I simply cannot mention to anyone. And some things belong to us. Only us.

*****

Parker smiled at me over his banana split. He's got chocolate syrup on his chin and it's probably the most adorable thing I've ever seen.

"Can I pleeease have another one?" he whined.

That kid's definitely inherited my stomach. "Your mother will kill me if I let you eat that much ice cream in one sitting. Besides, you'll get sick." He gives me a sad little look that is utterly impossible to resist. He totally learned that one from me, didn't he?

"Oh, all right, just this once." I give in after a short but intense staring contest. "You can only eat half of it though, and don't tell Rebecca or she'll kill us both."

"Yes! Thank you dad, thank you, thank you…"

"Think of all the birthday cake you ate last week on top of this junk. You're gonna get really fat, buddy."

"That's not true, you eat a lot and you aren't fat." He points at my empty plate. "That piece of pie was bigger than my face."

"Yeah, but I'm a tall adult who works too much and that's the only reason why I'm still skinny." He stares at me strange.

"Hey dad?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"When's Bones coming back?"

_WHAT_?

"Ah…Well…" I mumble. It's my turn to stare at him weird. "I don't… I'm not convinced she's going to come back at all."

He gapes at me in a frightened sort of way. "Oh my God. She's gonna stay in Canada." He seems very surprised. Why is he surprised? I'm positive I told him about this. "She's gone forever? Why didn't you tell me she's gone forever? I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to her!"

"Wh... I did tell you, I told you she'd flown to Montreal…"

"You never said she would live there for the rest of her life! I thought she had a meeting with scientists and bones and stuff!"

How could I explain how confused I felt a few months ago? I'd almost expected her to change her mind any day, rushing back to DC on a last minute flight, appearing on my porch in the middle of the night, materializing out of thin air one morning and typing away on her computer as though she'd never left. It got so bad that I confused almost every single woman with Bones for the first few days, even Angela. She was hunched over a skeleton on the forensic platform, and for a split second I kinda lost it. But I never truly saw her, obviously. She didn't even call me for three weeks, and after she did... well, I didn't realize it at the time, but it finally hammered my head into admitting she was gone for real. Now she calls me almost every day. When she doesn't, she warns me in advance and she calls me later in the evening. Those calls keep me sane and grounded right now, but it doesn't mean I wasn't completely delusional at first.

Back then I thought if I didn't talk about Bones, she wouldn't be gone. I can't explain it any better than that. I also I pounced on anyone who dared to mention her.

I must've been extremely vague when I broke the news to my son.

"How could you let her go, dad? Why did she go?"

"I don't know."

"_You don't know_?"

"I have no idea why."

"She left to Canada forever and she didn't even tell you why? Did she go crazy?"

"She said that there was an open position in Montreal and that they needed her expertise…"

"That's bull."

"Woah, hey, watch your language."

"What is wrong with her? And you, how could you let her leave?"

"It's what she wanted. If going to Canada makes her happy, then God bless her."

"But _you_'re not happy."

"Who told you that? Yes I am. I'm happy. I mean, I'm working and I'm eating ice cream with you… I'm… I'm happy. I'm fine."

"No you're not. You've been down since this winter when you started acting like you don't like your job anymore. I thought you had a fight with her or something, but mom told me not to ask."

"Maybe you should listen to your mother."

He shook his head and sighed. "What is wrong with adults? I mean… You didn't want her to go but you let her go anyway?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Why didn't you tell her to stay? She would've stayed."

"It's not that simple, Parker. I mean… yes, I wish she was still with us, but she gets to decide what she does with her life, not me. I just want what's best for her."

"You really think _Canada_ is what's best for her? But... but, what about what's best for you, dad? How is Bones leaving a good thing for you? Why does she get to be happy when you're not?"

"Buddy, when you really care for someone, you don't mind giving up a chunk of your happiness for them."

"Then you could've asked her to give up her happiness for the squints in the Jeffersonian, and for all the bad guys you haven't caught yet, and for you. You know she really cares about you. She would've stayed."

"What makes you so sure, buddy? You know how stubborn Bones can be. When she makes up her mind about something, she won't listen to what everyone else has to say."

"But Bones is nice! She let us use her pool. She loves you as much as you love her, I don't see why you have to be the only one miserable, and you don't even know why she went away! Bones wouldn't like it if you're sad. Even if she's stubborn, she'd change her mind…"

I stand up. "You know, it's getting pretty late. I'll drive you home. C'mon, hurry up."

The drive back to Rebecca's place is silent, which is a good thing because I need some time to brood. Parker is too busy staring out of the window to talk to me, lost in the thoughts that little boys entertain when they think they've got a way to fix all the wrongs in their loved ones' lives. I wish I could be as confident as he is about Bones' feelings.

I'm not sure Bones loves me. I'm not sure she would've stayed for me. And I guess I'd rather let her leave without protesting than learn she doesn't give a sh*t about me, only to see her fly off to Canada despite my pathetic begging.

I guess the reason I'm really bothered by what Parker said is because… he could be right. It hurts to admit it, but… If I'd told her I loved her at the airport… Who knows what might've happened. I close my eyes at the red light. The picture of Bones walking away from me, the one that plagued me day and night before I received her first phone call, starts playing in a loop behind my eyelids again. God, I thought I was doing so much better lately, yet all it takes is my little boy looking me straight in the eyes and telling me with complete sincerity that "she would've stayed for you" to throw me back into confusion.

A car honks behind me, jerking the memory of Bones' face away from my grasp.

"Dad? Are you ok?"

"Yeah." I am definitely not ok.

When Rebecca opens the door, the first thing Parker says is "Mom, Bones decided to move to Canada! Did you know? Did daddy tell you?"

I grit my teeth. "Park, really, I think you're pushing it a little bit there."

"She left the country?" Rebecca looks even more surprised than Parker. "Brennan actually resigned her job, and… she just left?"

"What, you didn't know either?"

"I thought it was just a… a business trip! I assumed she had some kind of meeting, or… I thought maybe you two had a fight and needed some distance. You never told me she was planning on settling down over there."

"Well she is."

"So she gave up her job and she left her family just to end up as far away from this town as possible?"

"_Yes_. She left. She works in Montreal now. Why the hell do you care?"

"Did she tell you why she left?"

"Heh. I wish. Everyone at the lab knew she was gonna leave before I did, and then she refused to tell me why. She kept repeating that stuff about how Canada needed her skills, and… and the Jeffersonian would be relatively unaffected, and she'd find me a new partner, and that I'd be fine without her."

"You're saying she left _everything_ behind, just to move away to Canada."

"Yeah. Is it some kind of mad hormone thing only women can understand? 'cause I really don't get it."

"Seeley…"

"She's in love with dad, it's made her act all crazy," Parker yells from behind the bathroom door before I'm able to answer.

"How the hell is that your business, all of a sudden?" I whisper angrily to keep Parker from hearing. "You don't even want me to meet your goddamn boyfriends, so I think my relationship with Bones should be just as off-limits to you."

I expected her to get pissed off. I almost wanted her to start arguing with me, even in front of Parker. "I'm sorry. Seeley," she whispered instead. "I didn't mean to… Don't get mad, it's my fault this time." She pushed me toward the door. "You know, it's getting late, maybe you should head home." She really wants to get rid of me, doesn't she? But no, instead she looks almost worried. About me. When's the last time this woman has been worried about me? Christ, that can't be good. Do I really look that bad?

"Alright, I'm going. Bye Parker." I ruffle his hair. The kid's already too big for hugs.

*****

At first it wasn't a dream, but a memory from a few days ago.

"hi bones" I was texting her because she was attending some formal event in Ottawa. She told me she couldn't call, but she'd said nothing against texting.

"You know I can't talk right now, Booth." Her reply came almost instantly.

"whatcha doin ?"

"I'm having awkward conversations with bald old men. You know the drill."

Bones is the only person in the world who uses perfect spelling and syntax when she texts someone.

"u can talk to me instead. im not bald"

"Ignoring everyone would be extremely rude. Besides, I'm surrounded by fascinating individuals."

"im a sexy fbi agent, tho"

"I can't see you. I'm afraid your full head of hair isn't especially advantageous at the moment."

Bones is the only person in this universe who would bother to write the word "advantageous" in a text message.

"u can talk to me whn youre bored"

"Why do you think I'm even replying to you? The majority of the guests have shown no signs of possessing a sense of humor so far."

"i have hair and i make u laugh. why don't u ditch thos guys?"

"I must admit, you are much more discreet than they are when you check out my cleavage."

"i wish i could see how pretty u look rite now"

Then she sent me a picture. She must've taken it herself, and I could see a middle-aged guy staring at her in the background. How weird must it be to see world renowned author and forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan texting and sending pictures of her dress in the middle of a formal museum event thingy? It was something a teenager would do in church.

She did look beautiful though. It was the first time I'd seen her since she left. She looked exceptionally good, and not just because of the little black dress she was rocking.

God, Bones always had amazing legs.

"u look really nice"

"Thank you very much."

Right around then I thought screw this.

"call me"

"Booth, I told you I can't."

"texting is hte same except slower"

"Fine. I admit it is rather slow."

"What will everyone say when they approach me just to see me babbling on the phone?" was the first thing she said to me instead of a hello.

"Tell them you _have_ to talk to this person. I mean, why else would you even take a call in the middle of such an important event if it wasn't really, really urgent?"

"Making fun of male pattern baldness is extremely urgent, of course."

"It's vital. Do it for the good of the universe, Temperance Brennan."

Now she was trying not to laugh in front of everyone. "I guess I can talk for a short while if it's truly urgent."

We talked for two hours.

"Twenty!"

"Wow."

"I'm impressed myself."

"Those people are a bunch of horny pervs, Bones."

"This last one was actually a woman."

"It's because of how exceptionally gorgeous you look tonight."

"Really? I… Thank you. And Agent Booth, I'd like to point out that you fall under the category of horny perv yourself."

"What? I don't stare at your chest a lot."

"You certainly would if I was wearing this dress in front of you. Oh, twenty-one!"

"Nice."

"I swear this is the most immature things I've ever done. I mean, counting indiscreet breast-lovers at a public function? I must be drunk. Do I sound drunk to you?"

"Depends. Did Hodgins spike the cocktail?"

"Unless Hodgins flew to Ontario, it's unlikely."

"Nah, you're not too drunk, you get all giggly when you're very drunk."

"How are you so sure of that? As far as I remember, you've only seen me drunk when you were extremely squashed yourself."

"Squashed? You mean smashed?"

"Squashed, smashed, same thing. Besides, you're behavior is far from dignified when _you_ ingest…" She was cut off.

"Hey Bones? Hello?"

"I have to go. I can't possibly make a speech with my cell phone glued to my ear."

"Can't you get rid of them like the two guys?"

"It's a _speech_, Booth, not a gullible geologist. How am I supposed to free myself from a speech by telling it I have an urgent call? We already talked for two hours anyway. We broke our previous record."

"Really? That long already? All right, I'll talk to you later then."

"Bye."

"Bye. I miss you."

"So do I. Will you call me tomorrow?"

And what felt like immediately after she said this, I left my bedroom and walked through the entrance of Dulles airport. I'm pretty sure that's the point where the memory stops and the dream starts.

"No duh. Of course I'll call you tomorrow, Bones. Why d'you ask?" That line was still part of the memory though the setting was pretty different.

She appeared in front of me wearing the coat and the white hat I'd seen on her the day she left. "Maybe you should stop calling me every day."

Not part of the memory.

"Why? What did I do?" I panicked. Her calls were the best part of my day.

"You're clinging to me, Booth. You have to stop. I'm gone and I'm not coming back. A clean break is the best option for both of us.

"But I don't want to move on! I want you. I miss you too much to let go."

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked somberly, her face unreadable. She moved closer and closer until our noses were almost touching. I could feel her breath on my cheek. I could see her eyes. Her beautiful, familiar eyes. They slowly filled my entire field of vision until nothing else existed in the world. "I can stay for you." I could almost feel her lips brush against mine as she spoke.

"What about you?" I whispered. "Do you love me?"

I saw a flash of fear before her eyes disappeared.

She balked. She was just a figment of my imagination and she still balked. I searched desperately for her silhouette until I saw her face underneath her hat, standing far from me, almost too far to make out. She slowly turned away.

"No! Wait!"

Without thinking, I dashed through the metal detectors. I pushed slower travelers out of my path. I outran the puzzled security guards. Her back was growing closer and closer to me.

"I LOVE YOU!"

She t…

I was woken up by the sound of my ringing phone.

*****

"Hi Seeley."

"Rebecca?" I pass my hands over my eyes and try to sound angry instead of confused and exhausted. "What the hell are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

"You love Dr. Brennan right?"

For a long, uncertain second I'm convinced I'm still dreaming. "Did you wake me up to ask that?"

"Does Brennan really love you?"

I snort. Even my snort sounds tired. "Good night, Rebecca."

"No, no, wait!"

"_What_."

"I'm serious, Seeley. Is she in love with you?"

"I don't know, go ask her."

"Can I have her number?"

"What's gotten into you? Since when do you give a sh*t about my relationship with Bones?"

"I always cared about you two, especially since she moved to Canada without my knowledge. You should've told me, you know."

"I thought you knew," I mutter. She's never gonna let that one go, is she?

"Well I didn't. Can I have Brennan's number now?"

"No! For Christ's sake, go to sleep, Rebecca. Let's talk in the morning, alright? I can't think straight right now."

"But it's important."

I groan. What is with me and stubborn women?

"You know how you always run background checks on my boyfriends? Well it's incredibly annoying, a complete insult to my privacy, and it's… kinda nice in a weird way. I don't want you to scare away all the guys I date, but I understand the sentiment behind it. So. If you give me Brennan's phone number, we'll be square."

"I'm not giving you her number. Are you kidding me? Forget her and go to sleep."

"God, I'm trying to fix this mess, Seeley!" she yells as though I'm dense even though she's the one calling me in the wee hours of morning.

"It's not your mess to fix, it's my mess. And Bones'. It's ours."

"No, it's mine. Trust me on this. If you won't let me talk to her, then at least answer these questions, all right? Do you love Dr. Brennan?"

I say nothing.

"I'll take that as a yes. Does she love you?"

"I don't know. I think she… I just don't know."

"Well, has she shown any signs of missing you at all?"

"I really miss her, I can tell you that much. I mean, we call each other every day but…"

"Every single day?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that? We're really good friends."

"That's… so… that's so _sweet_."

"Sweet?"

We're sweet? We're argumentative, dysfunctional and stubborn. We're not _sweet_, are we?

"Wow. Every day. And she didn't even tell you why she left," she sounded as disbelieving as I felt.

"I have no idea. Got any more stupid questions?"

She doesn't reply right away. "…Seeley?" Oh, I don't like this tone. "Um… I talked with Cam."

"What?"

"I asked her how you were doing. I can still tell when something is seriously wrong with you, and Parker is right, Brennan's leaving really shook you up."

"I'm fine. I don't need you to meddle."

Her breathing starts to shake ever so slightly. "I'm really, truly sorry. I want you to know that."

"Why? Did Cam tell you anything bad? Don't listen to her, she's making it sound worse than it…"

"Do you love her more than me, Seeley? No, that's not what I… What I'm trying to say is, um, you know, do you… do you love her more than you loved me back in the day?"

"It's not the same thing. It's not the same kind of love, Becky."

"Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I married you," she went on. "Would things be better for both of us, would we make it through the years without killing each other, would things be better for Parker if his parents were together? I've been thinking about this for a long time and today, just now, I realized that I made the right decision. Brennan would've broken us apart. I'd be jealous of the time you spend with her, and you… You wouldn't actually cheat on me, but every day you would want her. Then the guilt would torment you. And then arguments, divorce, fight for custody, it'd be horrible."

"You don't know that."

"No, but I'm pretty sure. I've seen the way you look at her. I know I would definitely be insanely jealous of her, at least."

"That's true..."

"I think she's cold, weird, and arrogant, and she doesn't deserve you." That's as far from the truth as you can get. "But you're cranky, controlling, and screwed up too, maybe it all evens out in the end?" That, on the other hand, is not an exaggeration at all. "I really thought about it, hell, I've been thinking about it for the entire night. I made up my mind. This is strange for me to say, but I think she's 'the one'. You know, she's the thing you've been looking for all your life. I already put you through a lot, Seel, don't think I'm not aware of that, and I'm not certain how much of it you deserved, or if you actually deserved any of it at all, but I'm not gonna m… I won't… You… You have to go get her back."

"She's already gone." There's so much hope peeking through my resigned words.

"Chase her, beg her, lure her, drag her genius *ss back to DC against her own judgment. If anyone in the world can do it, it's you." I feel as if I've been waiting for someone to tell me this from the moment Bones left my sight.

I see myself running through the airport in my dream. I was closing in on her. When I yelled… When I yelled, she turned back. She heard me, and her head shot back, and I saw her again. It was such a lovely feeling. Lord, that woman's face was enough to drive me insane.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I agree with you, Bec."

"Yeah.?"

"Yeah."

I'm definitely insane.

*****

_More coming shortly. Like, hopefully tomorrow. It's just that it's six in the morning right now and I can't think very well._


	7. Chapter 7

For the first time in twelve hours, reality finally hit me. I'm not in a surreal fever dream, I simply crossed a bridge to Montreal, Canada. I'm in French country. Bones is somewhere in this city.

"I'm insane" I whisper the hundredth time.

Oh God, I've gone completely mad.

I didn't even call her. She doesn't even know I'm here. Nobody knows I'm here, not even my boss. Not even the squints. The only one who knows is my freaking ex.

"I'll take care of it," Rebecca had promised me before I drove off into the unknown. I guess she has Cam's number, the two of them can figure something out. If Cam knows, the whole lab must know. Maybe the entire Hoover building is talking about my sudden overnight drive to Montreal by now. Angela will have a field day when I return.

What the hell am I doing? What makes me think I'll convince Bones to come back with me? I don't even know if I'm allowed to drive the car out of the country, and I didn't bother to ask in case the answer's no. This is stupid. I'll turn back around and hopefully nobody will even notice that I'm missing.

But…

But Bones is somewhere in this city.

*****

"Doctor Brennan?" My concentration is broken by my assistant's short head peeking through the door.

"What do you want, Miss Brossard?"

"Is dis your new book dat you're writing?"

"No, it's not. What makes you think..."

"Can I see a little bit of it?"

"Absolutely not. Stop asking."

"Fine, ok. I just wanted to ask you if you ate lunch. You spent de whole day in dis room."

"I'm afraid I had no time for lunch today." My stash of granola bars was officially depleted three days ago.

"Dere is always, always time for food, Doctor Brennan. Always." Her expression closely resembles pity.

"I had none with me, thus I did not eat. If you're carrying some on you, though, I would greatly appreciate it."

She quickly rummages through her pockets in search of edible items. "I have a Kit Kat," she announces triumphantly.

"Great. Can I have it?"

"Sure. I'll give it to you _after you eat lunch_."

"No! Don't do this to me again…"

"You are going to eat lunch. And you will have a real lunch. How about dat Italian place I've told you to go to for the last few months? Today sounds like a good time to finally try it."

"Or I could go for a small poutine."

"Mon dieu, you're in downtown, you are rich as hell, and you want to eat poutine all de time? It's not good for you."

"Maybe a salad instead," the healthy vegetarian in me intervenes belatedly. "Even better, you could give me your chocolate bar and the problem would be resolved easily enough."

"Go eat, Doctor Brennan. I promise your work will still be here when you come back. Did Agent Booth have so much trouble making you eat?"

"Every single day. Where's the location of your precious Italian restaurant again?"

"Intersection of Stanley and Sherbrooke streets. Are you actually going?"

"Maybe."

The air is crisp and invigorating today. The sun shines brilliantly through wispy clouds, bringing a definite hint of summer. I have to admit, it is almost too lovely a day to spend alone with a laptop. I leave the soothing shade of the trees embellishing the campus and step into downtown Montreal. The number of dandelions growing in the cracks of the pavement keep increasing. Everywhere, the grass is filled with bright yellow spots.

Where am I supposed to go? Stanley and Sherbrooke…

I walk straight to the Eaton Centre instead. I just want a poutine. Nobody will know. One more won't cause any lasting damage to my waistline, right? I easily find the place I am looking for amidst the various canteens, and the man nods at me, asking "You want the usual?"

Am I coming too often?

I stroll back from the Underground City with a big carton of poutine, swearing to myself that I'll eat at the Italian restaurant next time.

The girl will notice that I'm back too early. What do I do? Eat on a bench? After all, she's correct. This stuff is horrendous for my h…

A black SUV.

The sight of the car manages to completely destroy my train of thought. It's just a black Toyota parked next to the Burnside Hall, nothing exceptional about such a vehicle. I have to prevent small and insignificant details from affecting me to this extent, even if it does look exactly like Booth's car. Exactly the same. Is that a siren?

I suppose nobody will notice my sudden bout of insanity if I decide to verify the numbers on the license plate…

It's probably a Quebecer plate. It has a Fleur-de-Lis and "Je me souviens" written under the...

Washington DC.

It's a DC plate.

_Booth _ishere.

*****

"Hello? Hi."

"May I help you sir?" This girl's English accent is almost perfect. Thank God I don't have to ask her any questions with the three words of French I can pronounce.

"Yes, um… I've got a friend who works here, I think. Could you point me in the right direction?"

"Which department?"

I'm not even sure she's here right now. I know she divides her time between working in this place and helping the local cops with their corpses, but I couldn't remember what the legal medicine building of whatever is supposed to be called. "Her name's Temperance Brennan."

"Oh." Her eyes widen. "Doctor Brennan. I'm not sure if she's here right now, I'll call to… to verify..."

"Thanks a bunch."

She stared at me strangely while she dialed her number. "Allô Mélanie? C'est Élaine." I'm positive Melanie is Bones' assistant. "Y a quelqu'un qui cherche Brennan. Ben non, j'sais pas c'est qui, moi."

Aaand now I have no idea what she's saying.

"C'est un gars qui parle anglais." She frowns. "Pourquoi tu veux savoir de quoi il a de l'air ?" Whatever Brennan's assistant replied made her stare at me up and down like a piece of meat.

"Something wrong, miss?"

"No, not at all." She turns back to the phone as though I never existed. "Il est beau en maudit. Pis y est grand en plus. Oui, les yeux bruns. Tu le connais-tu?"

She lowers the receiver. "Excuse me? Could you please tell me your name?" she asks.

"Seeley Booth."

"FBI Agent?"

"Yes," I sigh. Her eyes widen even more.

"Miss, is Brennan here or not?" My patience is starting to disappear. If Bones isn't here, then I'm wasting my time.

God, she's so close, and this stupid girl is standing between us babbling in a language I don't understand.

"One moment, please." She went back to her phone. I feel like punching a wall. "Qu'est-ce que je lui dis? Parles plus lentement, j'ai rien compris. Bon. Mais grouilles-toi."

"So is she here?"

"Her assistant will be with us in a moment."

"But is _she_ here?"

"Not right now, sir, but her assistant will come meet you…"

"Do you know where she is?"

"I'm positive we will find out when…"

A young girl in a lab coat burst into the room with a cell phone in her hand. "Hi… Sorry. I ran all the way from…" She wheezed as she tried to catch her breath.

"Are you Melanie Brossard?"

"Yeah. Are you Agent Boot?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God. I'm so happy to meet you!" she squealed. Jesus, this girl is as excited as Daisy Wick on caffeine. "Doctor Brennan has told me so many great tings about you. You look… exactly like she described." More staring at me up and down like a piece of meat.

"C'est qui?" the girl called Ellen whispered in a totally unsubtle manner.

"C'est l'ex du docteur Brennan," Bones' new assistant whispered back. Even I understood what that meant.

"Seigneur, pour de vrai?"

"Oui."

"Wow. Méchant petard. _Beaucoup_ trop canon pour elle."

"Pfff, franchement quand même, elle est jolie la docteur."

"Elle a la personalité d'un robot et sa machoire est trop grosse."

"Ta gueule. T'es juste jalouse."

I know they're talking about me and I'm growing sick of not understanding a word of it.

"Excuse me, I don't want to interrupt your little chat but..."

"Oh, I'm sorry Agent Boot, Élaine is being annoying. Doctor Brennan is not here. She's having lunch."

"Wh… It's two o'clock."

"I know, right? She forgot to eat." We both smile. Of course she did. "I reminded her, and she wanted to eat my candy bar, but I told her she couldn't do dat. She went to a Italian restaurant some blocks from here, should be back in half an hour…"

She stops abruptly to watch something interesting behind my shoulder.

"What?" I turn around.

Before I know it, the woman of my dreams is finally in my arms again.

*****

_If you, like Booth, can't understand a word of our beautiful French language (AKA people too lazy to use babelfish), here is a basic translation of what Melanie and Elaine say._

_"Hello Melanie? It's Elaine." "There's someone looking for Brennan. Well no, I don't know who it is." "It's a guy who speaks English." "Why do you want to know what he looks like?" "He's damn good-looking. And he's tall too. Yes, brown eyes. Do you know him?" "What do I say to him? Speak slower, I didn't understand anything. Fine. But hurry up."_

_"Who is it?"_

_"Doctor Brennan's ex."_

_"Lord, for real?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Wow. He's a stud. Much too hot for her."_

_"Pfff, come on, the doctor's pretty."_

_"She has the personality of a robot and her jaw is too big."_

_"Shut up. You're just jealous."_

_I cannot believe how long this is. Wouldn't it be nice if I wrote shorter chapters, updated more frequently, and tried not to bite off more than I can chew? If I wrote normal chapters instead of humongous 8000 words ones, I might actually be able to update almost as quickly as a normal human being._


End file.
